


Everlasting, the Spires Sang

by kittymaverick



Category: Tyranny (Video Game)
Genre: Death, Graphic Description, Spoilers, Swearing, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:13:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 48,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9943760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymaverick/pseuds/kittymaverick
Summary: Fan novelization of Tyranny. Spoiler for the entire game. Written by Kittymaverick.The Oathbreaker rebellion has dragged on for too long. Kyros the Overlord sends an Edict to be proclaimed upon all in the valley. The honour falls to the hands of one Fatebinder Delphina. Meanwhile, two more Fatebinders, Auria and Markus, are instructed by Tunon to enter Vendrien's Well. Upon arriving, the two discover that Delphina has yet to proclaimed the Edict despite her orders. An unexpected member of the court in the valley, Fatebinder Anton, reveals a piece of information that only complicates matters. Loyalties and motives of all those involved are called into question as the countdown to Kyros' Day of Swords begin.Tyranny is a CRPG published by Paradox Interactive, developed by Obsidian Entertainment.





	1. 22nd Span of Swords

**Author's Note:**

> Reading this fan fiction will result in the entire game being spoiled for you. And I mean entire as in conquest details, all four paths, stuff that doesn't even appear but is there in the game files, and sixty thousand little details you'll wish you didn't know. You have been warned.
> 
> Part of the challenge I imposed on myself with writing this was "How much of the game's canon will I be able to use and still make it one cohesive story?" and "Just how am I going to achieve it?" As of my writing this note right now, the answers to those two question are "Quite a bit." and "By making things more complicated first."
> 
> That being said, this is meant to be fan fiction, so unless I figure out how to do text highlighting like the game, prior knowledge will be helpful. This includes knowing what the game is like to begin with: Dark in topic, equally so in humour, and incredibly grey in morality.

What was it her weapons master once said? Swearing, is much like a spear. It has two ends: one that is blunt and another that stabs. Even as you propel the sharp end towards the enemy, you must take care not to allow the blunt end to recoil and hit you square in the chest. Swearing acts in much the same way. It relieves ongoing stress and directs further aggression towards the opponent, but at the same time, it uses up breath. Thus, it should be done sparingly, curtailed only to moments that should meet at least two of three criteria: first, there is a need to express rage that would otherwise interfere with your focus, and you have no other options; second, you have the strength to spare that will not take away from what you are undertaking; third, and most importantly, you must not be in immediate danger of dying. Rarely will you find a situation where the first two shall take precedent over the last.

If she were to hold her master’s teachings true, there existed only two possibilities: either this particular westward rock face was a breeze to climb, or Auria simply had no other means to express her frustrations other than to swear at the cliffs of Vendrien’s Well. As all rock formation came, this one was likewise impassive to degenerate insults.

“Motherless teat.” Seething breath passed between clenched teeth. “Cairn’s stool. My mother’s cunt was easier to climb out than the likes of you!”

A single unfurled braid hung from under her helmet. She lost the pins that once held them in place during the climb. Under the sunlight her black hair reflected the dark bark and green needles of a pine forest. Stray strands along the hairline, wet from sweat, stuck to her tattooed face. The green pigment were vivid jade even in the shade. Back-dropping her and the mountains, cloudless blue sky stretched across the horizon. Dark trunks and foliage of conifers grew on every available ledge, contrasted from the well-lit landscape. Shallow-rooted saplings occupied spaces that could serve as steady grips. The branches reached out in invitation, but Auria was not one to be fooled. She kicked away or ripped apart any plants that stood in her way. Gloveless hand reaching up, she persisted, palms smudged with drying dirt, fingers raw and red. She pulled herself under an overhang as a rumble rolled through the land. Crumbling dust fell with loose stones. The air around her dried nose and mouth with each inhale.

“Kyros—” Auria suppressed the curse into a growl and leaned into the cliff side. The shaking stopped. Tipping her head back, she closed her eyes and let out a huff. A bead of sweat trailed down the side of her face, along the neck, then pulled away at her nape. She looked down. A sparkle, reflecting from the drop of perspiration, plummeted towards the ground, carried by a wind wispy and hollow. It disappeared into the blurry contours of the terrain below.

Not, in immediate danger of dying. Right.

“Had I a pickaxe…” Auria turned back, staring down the emotionless stone. She scrunched herself into a crouch, thigh and calf muscles tightened. “Better yet, had I a squadron of Earthshakers, I would carve a tunnel up your equivalent of a back end so deep and cavernous, the entirety of the Chorus can take up resident in your newly carved asshole and become the worst constipated shit you have ever experienced in your existence!”

She launched out from under the outcrop. A slight twist of the shoulders turned her body. Her hands and feet aimed for potential holdings. They connected. Rocks crunched upon landing, boots and nails scrapped. The weight under her left foot gave away in a clatter. She held her breath. The other three held.

“Ha! Think you can defeat the likes of me?” Auria shouted upwards in triumph, continuing her ascent as she spoke, “Do try, O Great Mountain! It did not take much for Cairn to carve through you, did it? A Fatebinder dropped him to his knees with an Edict last year. Perhaps they forgot you have no ears when they informed you. I would have carved the message where it will hurt the most. Granted, I was not the one in Azure, but what makes you think you can go above that hierarchy and take out a Fatebinder of the same level, huh?”

The ground trembled. This time it was harder, as if it responded to her taunts.

Auria’s nostrils flared. “Well, fuck you too—”

“Up!”

The voice caught her attention in time. A head-sized rock bounced near her shoulder. It would have hit her square in the cranium. The tremors grew, greater than any previously encountered. Throwing aside caution, Auria clambered upwards, extremities planted firm before her mind could judge the integrity of the rocks for safety. Her survival depended on speed and luck now; there was no time to think.

“Grab on to me!” A dark-skinned arm stretched down. Behind it, a bearded face was barely visible beneath a helmet black and gold, stamped with an insignia of the Gavel. Another Fatebinder.

Auria grabbed the man’s hand. Her footholds vanished, first right, then left. All of her weight hung by her arms. Upper back muscles strained, Auria grimaced as more rocks beside her cracked and tumbled away. The man groaned under the exertion of pulling her up. His boots scrapped against the dusty ground. One arm was not enough. He reached behind her with his free hand and grabbed the scruff of her scout’s jacket. With a soft ‘sorry’, he hoisted her over the ledge like one would a dog out of water. Hardly dignifying, but it got the two stumbling onto flat ground for a split second of reprieve.

“Go, for the path!” He pushed her away from the cliffs, now collapsing in a cascade. Auria took off, faster than any vanguard in red or blue. The man followed right behind her. Both focused their gaze forward as they ran, slid, and jumped down the trail. Behind them sounds like that of beastmen crunching on bones chased hot on their heels.

The man pressured, “Faster, faster—”

“I am fast. Trying not to leave you behind.” Auria kept her teeth together as to not bite her tongue.

“Saying I’m slow?” The man shouted over the clash of weapons against armour and the roaring landslide.

“Great sword, javelin, and shield? Heavy armour?” Auria snorted, “And the noise! A full supply wagon would wake fewer babes.”

A spot on the back of her head warmed. Perhaps the man was glaring at her. It did not matter.

“Ledge!” She reported the sudden change in terrain late. While she leapt over the obstacle, the man’s tripped over his own foot. Sailing through the air, his scream echoed in the small valley. A symphony of metal meet ground marked his crash. Body bent, Auria landed with one arm braced forward, the other held back in counterbalance. A pulse of pain jolted from her folded right knee to the hip. The sinew at the groin of the other leg creaked. She suppressed a wince.

The quake subsided, and the mountain range was once again silent. Birds emptied from the forest nearby, rushing blood pulsed at Auria’s temples and neck; the thumps mixed with the splashing of a waterfall. The spot where they were overlooked a column of stone carved round into a figure. Next to the giant statue flowed a river of blood, above which a fortress was built from rough brown stone. Now in ruins, it housed tents of both Disfavoured and Scarlet Chorus colours. Bare dirt paths weaved along the mountainside into and out of the camp, routes worn by countless thousands marching one after another. A few wisps of smoke from bonfires rose into the sky. With the high altitude, thread-thin air pulled painfully on labouring lungs, struggling to recover from the excursion they just extracted themselves out of.

“Talk about out of practice.” Auria exhaled and sat down on the spot, taking in the view. “I will be feeling that until the next potion.”

Taking off her helmet, she ran each of her fingers along the arcs and curves of her facial tattoos. First, she swiped her thumb over the oval centered between the brows cleared the area of dirt. Switching to her index, she followed the thick arches that starting at the eyebrows. The painted skin reached back beyond the hairline, returned to the corner of the eyes, and then cupped the outer underside of the eyes. For the segment running along the jawline and curling under the corners of the mouth, she scrapped with second knuckle of the middle finger. Where the two sides connected at the chin, the paint reached up to a circle beneath the lips. With her ring and little finger, she rubbed the dot clean, like polishing a round emerald recessed into a platform. The entire process seemed habitual, even ritualistic.

“How about you?” She asked the other Fatebinder. The man slowly got onto his knees.

“Probably until my next full rest.” He sounded full of agony. “Speaking of, what were you thinking! Scaling an entire mountain, bare hands?! I heard you cursing before I was even half way up the trail.”

“So that was how you found me.” Auria stood up and dusted herself off. From inside her coat, she retrieved her gloves. The leather creaked as she pulled them on and flexed her fingers. “I could ask the same of you. What were you doing up there?”

“More people were supposed to come through, but almost all major pathways were gone, especially on the east side. Lot of redirections were being coordinated when I arrived.”

“That I know. The outpost at the foot of the Eastern range pointed me further west. The detour took half a day. And that was with the utilization of vertical surfaces.”

“Same here. Had to detour too, minus the cliffs. Anyway, an Oathbound spotted the trail here. Thought I’d check to see if it’s still accessible and if it’ll be of any use.”

“And?”

The man glared, then jabbed a thumb at the remnants of the path they had just ran down. The rocks of the landslide stacked one upon another, airtight. Only feather-weighed dust drifted still, yet to settle down.

“Ah.” Auria bit her lip at the obvious, exposing her teeth to air. A stab swooped in at the opportunity. Cascading tingles coursed through bone. The wet whiff of rain enveloped the nose. A crack of thunder reverberated in the back of her throat. Though no trees swayed not sand flew, a gall pushed against her. Scrapping against skin, tugging on hairs, it ripped her body apart along unseen seams, carrying her in an upward spiral. In thick, viscous clouds, lungs filled, she overlooked a windswept land barren and scarred, and poured forth her roaring rage in torrents—

She closed her mouth. A ringing remained in her ears. Bitter metallic aftertaste coated her mouth. She glanced at the other Fatebinder. He too had a look of understanding what was going on. The magic of Kyros the Overlord had sealed the passage. Remnants of that energy permeated the valley they were just in. If the Overlord’s Will was at work here, none shall be leaving the valley anytime soon. Any attempts to clear the passage would be illegal.

“Auria.” She extended a hand to the still-kneeling man.

“Thought so. Light skin with a hint of copper, the tattoos and hair. Not a lot of Fatebinders from where you—” The man’s circled his own face with a finger, but stopped once he saw Auria narrowing an eye. He gave a firm shake as he pulled himself up. “Markus. Just Markus.”

Auria sized the man up. She herself was above average height as normal humans went. Markus exceeded her by half a head, nearing the size of some archons. No doubt some Northern blood flowed in his veins, given the wide nose and thick lips. A beard obscured his lower jaw. Though his features were not uncommon for Northerners, his dark eyes had the intense stare like a fire blazing. In the humid climate, his skin retained a matte burnt texture, and his hair frizzled as if burnt. Warmth radiated from his hands even in the sweltering heat of the Tiers, passing through both their gloves. The charred smell of parchment and wood lingered about him.

 _So this man, he is the one the Disfavoured have been mentioning all these years_. Auria smirked at the coincidence. It seemed she was not the only one in this valley who had decreed an Edict before. “Fancy you being here in Apex. Is it true that nowadays Vellum Citadel burns as bright as an Ember’s Candle?”

Markus coughed, letting go and sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. “Compared to Stalwart? The Burning Library’s got nothing against the Bladegrave. Not that we should be making comparisons or bragging—”

“I beg to differ. Throwing titles around give perks, after all.”

“—You really shouldn’t—”

“Why not? Nothing bad has happened, yet.”

“—Please don’t—”

“You are not the type to risk even a little, hm?”

“—The rumour’s true. Please stop—“

“Um…pardon me?” A new voice chimed in.

“Yes?” Auria and Markus stared down the newcomer. Armoured shoulder to toe in blue-tinged iron, the young female Disfavoured snapped to a salute, fist against her breastplate.

“Fatebinder…s. Aurora, Commander of the Second Cohort. We were told to expect arrivals, though they didn’t exactly say who was, I mean, were coming.” She shuffled on the spot, a nervous smile cracking through her professionalism. “Sorry, it’s just… I wasn’t expecting to see the Firestarter and Stormcaller both at the same time. And it’s not everyday that you get to meet all three living Fatebinders who survived declaring the Overlord’s Edicts during the conquest,” She tittered.

“Three Fatebinders who’ve declared— Delphina? Is Delphina the one who’s been sent?” Markus urged for answers, “When’d she pass through? Where’s she now?”

“I…um…” Aurora counted quietly. “She arrived several hours ago. Around midday, I believe? Thank Kyros she showed up. We were in the middle of being raided by the Oathbreakers. If it hadn’t been for her, Drastus wouldn’t still be with us. Though I think we disappointed her when we all jumped to kill the man holding him hostage… Apologies, I strayed from your question. Last I saw her she was headed for the Disfavoured camp, escort by some Chorus woman.”

“Friend of yours?” Auria asked. Some rumours in her head connected. “Wait, that Delphina? The one who had the Queen of Apex suggesting that her son ask for her hand in marriage? I thought that was another ‘Depraved Tiersmen lusting after Northerners’ joke.”

Aurora piped up, “I also heard that some nobles fainted upon seeing her at some celebration in the Bastard City because of a dress—” Markus’ glare intensified upon Aurora, and the Disfavoured soldier silenced herself.

“This whole rebellion must be a spit in a face for her.” Auria crossed her arms, amused. “Since she did not do it right the first time, Tunon must have ordered her to see this insurrection through, or else. He would be one to make an subordinate clean up their own mess.”

“That can’t be it.” Markus shook his head. “First, she isn’t responsible for any of this. The Adjudicator would see that clearer than any of us. Second… never mind the second. Third, as much as I wished she was, she’s not a Northerner.”

“‘As much as I wished’? So closer than a friend,” Auria teased.

“That’s absurd—” Markus threw up his hands in defeat. He addressed Aurora. “Why is she here? Did she mention a reason?”

“I…” Aurora stammered. Cold sweat gathered upon her forehead. Markus gave her yet another of his glares, and the words jumped out her mouth. “An Edict! She said she’s here to proclaim an Edict, against us! I don’t know why Kyros would do such a thing, but it’s not just the enemy, it’s everyone!”

“Everyone?!” A figure jumped up from the nearby bush. Bronze scales over blue cloth, the Vendrien scout froze, surprized that he had exposed himself of eavesdropping.

“There you are.” Auria placed her hands on her hips. “I thought someone was listening in. How nice of you to show yourself. Now I can avoid wading through grass.” The scout snarled and spat at their feet.

“Kyros’ feet-licking dogs! Don’t think for a second that any of you will scare us into submission!” He ran into the thicket behind him. Leaves thrashed as he pushed them aside. With a loud “Hey!” Markus unsheathed his great sword. Aurora too brought her shield and blade forward. The faster predator, however, closed in for the kill.

“I have him!” Auria’s hand on Markus’ arm stayed his charge, her other reached behind him. With a flick of her fingers, she removed the javelin from its cord. Shaft gripped, she skipped back, weight on her right foot. Spearhead at eye level, she pushed the weapon forward in one fluid motion. It was like releasing stones from a trebuchet. The javelin hissed, tearing through flimsy leaves and sticks. With a solid thunk, it sunk deep into the runner’s back. The realization that his bronze plate failed to protect him came out in a gurgle, a choke. Both grasped him by the throat and squeezed. The last bit of air seeped out in a strangled groan, his death rattle. His body went limp without another sound.

Auria rolled her shoulders and sighed in satisfaction. She patted Markus on the back as she walked by to retrieve the weapon, and pilfer the body for rings. “Nice balance on that shaft. I think I will hang on to it as we walk, if you do not mind.”

Markus scowled, rolled his eyes and said nothing. This was going to be a long mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and reviews greatly appreciated, including picking out spelling and grammar errors. (That being said, it's still up to me whether to accept or reject them. You never know, maybe I intentionally did that and it's not an error. >8D)
> 
> As the story involves many Fatebinders, I had the Edict arrive four days later than in game. Those who play the game know what that means. Those who don't...well read on. It will be explained in the next few chapters.
> 
> Thank you for reading! See you next chapter.


	2. Three Missives in Transit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some letters are written and delivered, but have they been read?

[A report upon Graven Ashe’s War Table, placed conspicuously on top of other documents]

General,

I hope this letter finds itself in your hands at some point, whether that be during a reprieve from dealing with that green bastard, or while you are going through the stacks of less-than-important missives. It may seem inconsequential, but I sincerely believe it better to inform (or remind) you of the identity of the incoming Fatebinder. Not only that, there is also the matter of those who have been drafted in by the Adjudicator to assist her. That three Fatebinders are heading our way does not bode well for our situation. If it’s as we suspect, an Edict from the Overlord shall be arriving with our guest from the Bastard City.

First and foremost, the Fatebinder carrying said Edict is none other than Cairn’s executioner, Fatebinder Delphina. That name may sound more familiar than most, as she was the one who accompanied us during the early spans of the conquest. (I certainly remember how you balked, along with many others, when you saw her return with the Oathbound from infiltrating the border outpost. You nearly missed hearing her name.) It’s also thanks to her negotiation skills that our campaign in Apex ended as neatly as it did, despite some rather irritating decisions her made during our time there. I guess not being Northern by blood gave her an excessive amount of tolerance for these barbarians and their festivities. Nevertheless, she did managed to beat the common sense of accepting Kyros’ rule into them, albeit with words rather than hammer.

I, for one, still find her terms far too lenient towards the ruling houses of Apex. We might have avoided our rebel problem here altogether had she dealt a firmer hand. Yet I don’t blame her for what has happened either. To be honest, many of us in the Iron Guards regard her with fondness. Perhaps it’s because she empathized with our loss when we had to give up our recruits as compensation for Cairn’s clumsiness at Edgering Pass. I usually look down on those who get sentimental, especially if it involves decision-making. With her, however, I find myself admiring her candour without coming of as wavering on her judgements. Her adherence to upholding law and honour during that event certainly displayed why Tunon bestowed her with the task of reading the Edict of Stone.

Speaking of Azure, from last year’s reports, she was less supportive of us there than she was the years prior. No doubt Cairn’s character and behaviour had been a factor; it could not have been easy working with him alone. Seeing the Archon of Stone at his worst may have prompted her to throw every available soldier at him during his final assault. (I still believe that the howling mob would have sufficed. They are fodder for a reason.) I have yet time to find out how she reflects on the matter and what insights she has on his betrayal. That said, though I know you are just as curious as any of us, I suggest not asking her about your late ward. I hear there are Fatebinders looking into the matter already, so it is best we avoid any action that may be taken as interference. No need to sour things between Tunon’s Court and us while we are still working politely.

[A small note is tacked here.]

A point of curiosity: this would indeed be the second time she proclaims an Edict, a rare honour indeed. Our representatives at the Court say it had been a difficult decision, to the point of delaying her departure. Part of it was due to opinions of her being divided as of late. However, how they are divided, and how that led to complications, they did not say. All I know at the moment is that we had no input on the matter, and nor did the horde; it sounds to be an internal affair among the Fatebinders themselves. I will ask Salveros to check if there is any indication that the Chorus might know more.

[The missive continues.]

In the realm of better news, Markus shall be coming in from the Contested Lands to aid in our efforts here. Mentioning him reminds me of how father had always lamented on us not recruiting him in time. Several veterans also say Barik is simply an insufficient replacement. (Please don’t tell Barik that’s what the other’s say behind his back. They always said to his face that he would have been my father’s proudest student. As much as I give Barik grief, I don’t know how he’ll take these words, or if he can.) Though I’ve had my scepticisms, after seeing what Markus was capable of at Bastard City, I would gladly agree with them. I mean, have you ever seen a man cleave five enemies in one clean swoop? He made it look as easy as slicing cheese with a hot knife! And unlike even the humblest of us, he never brags about his deeds. It’s always someone else doing the talking for him. Also, that [The rest of this sentence, and several after, are scrawled out in on obvious attempt to hide what was once written here. The letter then starts on a completely new paragraph.]

Though I know not where he was during the second year of conquest, he did join us again at the Vellum Citadel. I heard even the Archon of Song could not sway him when they came face to face. The Chorus could not be unhappier, of course. Either way, it will be a relief for all of us that we shall have a loyal ally at our side, and perhaps provide a boost in morale to the soldiers.

I believe a third, Fatebinder Auria, is being called in from Stalwart. Her infamy still travels from ear to ear among our troops. I have barely any recollection of her deeds in the first year, no doubt because she was working deep within the Chorus. Which would explain why her term at Lethian Crossing seemed like it must have crawled out of the Spymaster’s backend. As honourable as she did not cave in to bribery, what sound judgement is it to give control of the place to a mob of howlers? Her reason, incredulously, (I have several accounts verifying these exact words to be true.) was that “they have a better brothel.”

Perhaps relations soured between her and the Chorus after that, given her actions in Stalwart seemed to be based on going for the option that infuriated more people, regardless of which army they belonged to. How she ultimately got the honour and fame as the Stormcaller is beyond all of us. That being said, please do not strangle her like you once swore you would. We should simply hope that the Archon of Justice would see through her treachery sooner than later and send his headsmen to collect her life.

This missive has gone on for far longer than I imagined. I shall keep you no longer, General. Do attempt some shut-eye once in a while, even if you do not sleep.

Forever in Your Protection,

Erenyos

* * *

 

[Hastily written missive in a script local to the Tiers, currently en route to Ascension Hall. It is covered in blood, still fresh. Streaks of red suggest that the scroll was hastily snatched out of someone’s hand.]

Captain,

No good news. We’ve lost another group to the Scarlet Chorus. A runner, couple of recruits, some scribes. Hoping there wasn’t anyone or anything too important there. Though as a result, we’ve yet to make contact with the Pelox brothers. Their own soldiers seem to barely know where they might be camped out.

Though Echocall is still under our control and watched over by Captain Sybil, morale continues to drop. With several Fatebinders dispatched here by the Archon of Justice, it’s only a matter of time before the two armies stop getting in each other’s way. Perhaps it best to consider alternatives or escapes while we still can. Though it may be an act of cowardice, there will be no rebellion if there is no banner to rally under.

[Between the paragraphs, two roughly-sketched portraits sit. One features a woman with tattoos on her face, the other a dark-skinned man, fully bearded.]

These two are the new arrivals, both titled heavy hitters. Still have yet to confirm if the earlier one is the Peacebinder. Also, I saw the [here, the words “water witch” are crossed out] Tidecaster head out into the wilderness not too long ago too. I believe she has set out to inquire about Tyrel and Tarkis. Hope the Fatebinders, whichever one she ends up meeting, will still honour the blue flag despite us not honouring the peace treaty.

[The letter has no farewell, and is left unsigned.]

* * *

 

[A rolled-up note, sent via messenger bird to the Scarlet Chorus camp.]

Archon,

I know of the three. Here’s my opinion.

D: Good girl. Too good, but not foolishly good. Take care, or let me do the work.

M: Disfavoured in Fatebinder gear. Intimidating silence. Most senior. Quite close with D, but not something to use; will spell trouble.

A: Don’t know her deal or how to deal with her. I AM human. Sorry.

[The next line is scrawled out but still readable.]

Think you’ll love her, but she hates everyone and wants everyone to hate her.

[The next line is fresh.]

Wait, you’ve met her. Then yeah, you know. My condolences.

-Ant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missives are an important part of delivering and reading about lore in the Tyranny universe, so I thought it would be interesting to use them to change up the pace of the story. And they are rather effective for delivery large amounts of information, so this won't be the last you see of them.
> 
> While writing these, I also questioned WHY these missives may be written, especially the first. Is it because Graven Ashe's memories may be going despite him being an Archon, or is it because there really are a lot of Fatebinders running around that he may need some reminders? Perhaps both may be correct answers? Letters leaves plenty of room for interpretation since they are often heavily biased. Though that also makes them difficult as getting the voice of the writer right is definitely a struggle, and something I may revise for in the future.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Feel welcome to leave comments and kudos! <3


	3. The Disfavoured Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the Disfavoured camp, Markus and Auria discover what Delphina *didn't* do...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter opens with some pretty gory description. I would not recommend eating while reading the first couple of paragraphs. Or after, for that matter. Skip to the third paragraph if dead and decaying bodies are things you would like to avoid.

Guided by Aurora’s brief instructions, the two new arrivals, Auria and Markus, trekked the three-hour journey from Edgering Ruins to the Disfavoured’s camp site. Few words were exchanged along the way. Both instead kept an ear out for movement other than themselves. Auria stopped Markus once or twice out of false alarm. Wild deer and boar, gaunt, sick and startled, roam the unclaimed wilderness, grass and twigs breaking under their hooves as they galloped away. Out of all living creatures in the region, only flies proliferated more than ever. They swarmed from stake to stake, meal to meal. One or two smashed into the two Fatebinder’s helmet with a plink before buzzing away for the next corpse.

Putrid flesh scented every sniff along the road. Some of the bodies bloated with gas bulging under blackened skin. Some were filled with crawling maggots; so numerous were the larvae, their chewing and writhing could be heard as the white grubs burrowed deeper into the meat. Only dead less than a day old were spared from obvious signs of nature’s mutilation, and of the bodies that lined the sides of the road, they were not in the minority. Man and woman, whether in their prime or elderly, whether clad in the gear of a soldier or robes of a civilian, were staked upon poles bearing the Overlord’s insignia. Fluids collected below each rod, fed by trickles down the stick. Fresh pools rippled from drops of blood, while stagnant puddles coagulated into a reddish mud. Where a top of a slope began, dark crimson streams ran down and outward, feeding into the forest nearby. Thorny shrubs by the road soaked up the colour, their leaves shrivelled as if poisoned. Even the land recovered slower than usual from the carnage of this campaign.

To the Tiersmen, and all those conquered through the ages, this sight of dread and terror served as a warning of the consequences of being unwilling to bend, or being too arrogant to bow. To the two Fatebinders, this was simply another road. The last three years numbed heads and hearts of the attrition upon the population. Setting their mind to reaching the destination despite their fatigue was a far more inviting thought.

By the time they arrived outside the campsite, the sun had already disappeared behind the mountains, lighting the sky orange and purple. At the border of the long shadow casted from the tall wooden fence and open gate, a merchant hastily packed his cart. Seeing the Fatebinders walk by, he gave them a rigid bow, keeping his gaze averted. Unlike him, the Disfavored seemed like they have yet to call it an evening, not with the combat drills still going on strong.

Two large guards flanked the entrance of the barrack. Seeing people approach, they straightened, hands readied at their weapons.

“State your purpose —motherless stones, it’s Fatebinder Markus!” One of the guards gave a hearty laugh, and turned to his partner. “It’s the one I told you about! Been a while, sir! Last I saw you, you were kicking down one of the gates of Bastard City, literally. Heard you left the splinters in your boot as a souvenir?”

“Julius, was it? Glad to see that you’ve made it to out here, friend” Markus walked up to the man. They clasped hands and bumped their shoulders together. “You’ve met the Stormcaller?” Markus pointed to Auria, who hung back.

“Not yet, but I’ve heard stories from my partner here. Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“Likewise.” Auria crossed her arms, giving the other guard, a woman, a not-so-friendly smile. “Those stories had better been good, soldier.”

“I tried my best, Fatebinder. You made it rather difficult. I had to especially emphasized the part where we strung up the Regent’s body. The Unbroken wasn’t so unbroken after they saw that.” The guard tipped her helmeted head. “Though you were quick about that Edict. Something even the Firestarter could learn from in my opinion.”

Markus explained, “Things were getting too hostile with Chorus. Could become a problem. I have to appease them sometimes." With a resigned raise of a shoulder, he changed the subject to focus on the task at hand. "Anyway, where’s Delphina?”

“The Fatebinder earlier, I presume? You missed her by hours.” The female guard confirmed with her colleague via a shared nod. “Arrived with a Fury, went in. Came out around a half-hour later with Barik in tow.”

“Barik of the Stone Shields?” Auria and Markus said in near unison. They looked at one another surprised at their shared acquaintance, but time was of the essence, and some answers were more urgent.

“So she, what, swung by and left? No meeting with Graven Ashe?” Markus asked.

The male guard shrugged. “Not sure what happened in there. We’ve been told that you were expected, so you are welcome to enter the camp. The Iron Marshal should have some answers. If you can get her to leave the Archon’s tent, that is.”

Auria nudged Markus and cautioned quietly by his ear. “Is this necessary? Your friend is quite a bit ahead, and both of us lack clear objectives in our missives. While we know why she is here, we have no way of know how we may assist unless we find her. Besides, she can and should explain her actions better than any secondary source.”

“True, but Delphina’s… got a way with words. As a friend, I trust her. As a Fatebinder…” Markus sighed, hands at his waist. “…I know better. Anyway, questions first. I need to know what she did here.”

“Very well. Go do your asking around. I, on the other hand, have business to conduct.” Auria patted a pocket with a playful wink. Rings, some from a recently dead body, jingled between the fabrics. “I will find you once I am done. Or you will find me, if you manage to finish your little investigations before my shopping. Somehow, I doubt that will happen.”

Markus glared at her, but Auria simply kept her faint and unwary smile, and struck up a new conversation with the guards. Seeing no worth in persuading the woman, Markus walked into the compound alone. 

A hum of energy was about the camp. Though some were heavily patched, every tent bore the proud symbol of the Disfavoured. From between them, the aroma of smoked game in burnt stews mixed with the odours of sweat and excrement drifted, permeating the sleeping areas. Slaves hulled and toiled away at supplies and equipment with a nervous pace that their malnourished bodies struggled to maintain. Their eyes filled with fear whenever a Disfavoured rushed by them, forcing another bout of strength out of their bony forms. Squadron of soldiers gathered in files as their commander barked orders. Armours crunched, crisp as each salute they responded with. Far away, young recruits sparred on a training ground. Their thrust and parry kicked up sand while a senior office shouted corrections from the perimeter. Swords or spears swiped, sliced, jabbed, butted. Shields rose to meet each strike. Ever so often, one of the youngest looked towards those waiting in formation, wearing a mixture of awe, pride, and nerves on their face.

Disappointment churned inside Markus. The dedication and routine of the Disfavoured camp was a far contrast from his companion’s flippant attitude. Though it was his first time meeting Auria, her reputation of being the new problem child of the Court had reached his ears from Fatebinders and other armies alike. Defiant even in the face of the Archons leading the campaign in the Tiers, there was little doubt that the roguish Fatebinder was under scrutiny from the higher ranks. In the letter Rhogalus sent to him citing Tunon’s order to enter Apex post-haste, the loremaster hinted that Markus’ observations here may someday be used as evidence against one of the their own that was… what was the description again?

Reaching into his bandolier, Markus pulled out the folded up missive. Following the lines with a knuckle, he found the sentence.

_Possibly our next Fatebinder of Balance, if she learns to test the Adjudicator’s patience less frequently, and keep it entertaining for Calio._

When he had read it originally, he imagined Rhogalus to sound jovial and sarcastic, as the mentor might be found be after a good day in the Court’s records room. Now, having experienced the woman’s ‘charms’ himself, Rhogalus’ words reeked of exhausted despair like a parent of an unruly child. The sentiment gave Markus a sense of relief that even after two decades, he had yet to take up any instructional responsibilities. Encountering the likes of Auria might have had him throwing practice weaponry across the training grounds in a fit, if not the weapon rack itself, or maybe the student.

“By Kyros’ iron anus, it’s the Firestarter!” A voice bellowed.

Markus jolted up from looking at the letter. A pair of muscular arms in blue iron armour approached. Though the advancing soldier was clad from head to two, Markus recognized the stride and posture. It was too late to stop the inevitable. A silent ‘oh no’ registered in Markus’ head as limbs clasped around his waist. In one heave, the man trapped Markus in a tight hug and lifted him knee-high. The follow-up squeeze pushed half the air out his lungs in a sound that resembled a strangled crow. A wet sob clogged itself somewhere behind the skull-faced helmet that dug uncomfortably into Markus’ abdomen.

“And those swinefinks in the Chorus told me you were a pile of ash!” The humongous man’s voice shook with gratitude. “It’s good to see you’re still kicking around!”

“Nice to see you too, Cev.” Markus strained a greeting. At least he was not the only one choking. “Now please…air…and it’s not the time for hugs.”

“Oh, apologies, Fatebinder. Guess we’ll have to trade war stories later. Now is not the time indeed.” Ceveus gently set him down.

Some in the camp came to a stand still, staring at the gasping Fatebinder next to the sniffing giant tower of iron. Though few had their faces revealed, each looked as it their eyebrows were raised behind their helmets.

“What are you all looking at? We’ve got a siege to prepare for, get to it!” Ceveus dismissed the onlookers with a wave of his hand. They all hurried back to their duties.

“What’s with all the movement? Has the Edict already been read?” Markus tugged at his collar. “I didn’t feel a thing on my way here.” The Disfavoured soldier snapped his fingers.

“Ha! Knew an Edict was involved. Well, no, it’s not been read. Probably for the best.” Ceveus gestured towards a large tent in the middle of the camp. “Hear that rabble coming from inside?” A booming voice shouted from behind the tent flaps, followed by a shrilled one. The latter prodded, snide and dramatic, while the former defended and countered.

“The archons?” Markus sighed.

Ceveus elaborated, “The Voices have been a spearhead in the General’s side since this morning. Probably why your fellow Fatebinder didn’t go in. She walked up, barely got within hearing distance, and then asked if I could bring the Iron Marshal out. I said Erenyos wasn’t going to leave the General alone while the Archon of Secrets was still in there, so your colleague sent me in with a note instead.” The iron guard paused, hesitant to say more.

“What happened?” Markus asked, words firm, almost commanding.

“Well, if the Iron Marshal’s face could drain of colour while behind a helmet, that was what happened. Don’t know if the archons noticed. They went on arguing anyway. She whispered an order to me to start preparations for a siege, then waved me off like it was nothing. It’s been going smoothly, for the most part.” Ceveus sighed shook his head. “We’ve lost track of our arcane reinforcements. Radix and his Earthshakers are due to arrive soon. I’m still looking for spare legs to go run out and look for them. Maric’s Oathbound are disappearing by the day, and though he insist many are alive, I feel it might be wishful thinking on his part at this point.”

“Sounds like you could use help.” Markus offered, “I’d be happy to assist. That’s what I assume I’m here for, or at least part of it.”

“If you could! I would happily accept help from one of Tunon’s finest agents.” Ceveus clasped Markus hard by the shoulder in gratitude. “Have you a map of the region?”

Markus pulled out a creased and singed parchment from his bandolier, folded numerous times into a square the size of a palm. It was damp as a rag, ink eroded by whatever liquid (most likely a solvent) it last encountered. As both men eyed the tattered map with disdain, a hand holding a near-pristine scroll slapped Ceveus on the shoulder. His pauldron reverberated like a gong.

“Use mine,” Auria said, “Or easier yet, describe the region and point me in the rough direction. I work faster with vague instructions.”

“Understood… ma’am,” Ceveus look to Markus with an unspoken question. After a reassuring nod, the Disfavoured took and unfurled the map, and indicated a route. “Travel along the path to and past the Chorus’ camp. It’ll probably take about ten hours, or shorter if you’re quick. Go until you almost hit the eastern mountain range. There should be a clearing in the north part of the forest there; we call it the Northeastern Pass. That’s where our mages were last reported to be. Even if they’ve relocated, you should find some signs. Think madam Fatebinder here’s got tracking down.”

“Of course. We could also swing by the camp and see if your friend’s there.” Auria recommended. “By some stroke of luck, the merchant outside overhead the Scarlet Chorus emissary speaking to your friend just shortly after she left the camp. Apparently, the man ran out the gate to tell her some retainer by the name of Fifth Eye was requesting for her presence at the Scarlet Chorus Camp. Now, I am not one to make terrible assumptions of Nerat—”

“Ceveus, I’ll see you later.” Markus lifted the map from Ceveus’ hand and headed for the exit. “Graven Ashe protects.” The marching of troops drowned out the rushed blessing to a murmur.

“Graven Ashe… protects.” Ceveus called out, then stammered. He stared blankly after the Fatebinder. “Is something the matter? He seems… pressed.”

“Fair question. For one not on the path of Fatebinder, that is. A dozen instructors and an Archon would have your head for asking if there was a matter, and not what the matter is.” Auria crossed her arms. Her gaze too fixed on Markus. “Say, soldier, the note you gave Erenyos. Did you read it?”

“Not one to look at my superior’s correspondences, ma’am. And even if I did, I wouldn’t know what it said.”

“Pity.” Auria held out her hand. “If you would.”

Ceveus was taken aback. “Ma’am?”

Auria turned her head slowly, eyes sharp as if it could cut. Her gesture was obvious and she was not one to tolerate tardiness. “The Iron Marshal never keep missives on her person for long. However, if she were to make an exception, she would draw the archons’ attention, which, given her actions, she did not want, and did not let happen. Yet the note must not be ‘misplaced’, ‘lost’ or ‘disposed’, lest it fall into the hands of competitors or enemies alike. Nor can she order you to destroy the note, as the gesture itself could become evidence, genuine or fraudulent, for the charge of withholding information from allies. What better course of action could she take then, other than hand it back into the hands of the illiterate messenger who shall be responsible for carrying out her next command, and would be too occupied to both regard and discard the note?” Auria stated, each syllable pronounced and clear. “Now if you will kindly stop wasting my time and hand the piece of compressed reed strips over. I have more than one supposedly companion to catch up to, and you, are delaying me.”

The hair on Ceveus’ arm pulled on the skin, sending a prickling sensation running up his limbs. With a grunt, he produced the note from a pouch, shoved it into the Fatebinder’s hand and walked off to give his next command to a group of Crescent runners. Auria unfolded the parchment. Only a single sentence was written on it.

_A representative of the Overlord must claim Ascension Hall by Kyros’Day of Swords, or all in the valley shall perish._

Auria cursed in her mother dialect. She did not care if someone had heard her use the forbidden tongue. Death was closer than ever; she might as well flirt with it some more while she lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could say why the edict hasn't been read yet, but that would technically be a spoiler. However, if you've played the game or read some other people's experience, you may have an idea about what is going on...


	4. Of Loyalty and Treason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving the Disfavoured camp, Markus and Auria enter a heated argument.

Once again on the move, the Fatebinders contemplated in silence over the wording of the Edict. They walked amongst the unkempt grass, staying a cautious distance away from the road. The smells of war, its blood, sweat, metal and decay, faded with the distance, replaced by dusty dry forests growing colder. The swish of leaves in the wind disguised their footsteps. Night crawled over the land layer by layer; they could barely see ten paces beyond themselves. Avoiding the usage of torches, they relied on the pale Terratus Grave overhead. The satellite provided a soft light, leaving a handful of the brightest of stars viewable for navigation.

Feeling perturbed and spinning in logical circles, Markus attempted some small talk to ease his mind.

“How’d you know Barik?”

“Who?” Auria played dumb. Markus glared. She chuckled, “I was the campaign advisor at Stalwart, remember? Barik was stationed there. I would not claim any semblance of friendship, but I will give him due credit. He is a remarkable warrior that stands out amongst the Stone Shields. Only a handful wields a spear better than him.”

“You’ve met that many spearmen?”

Auria cocked an eyebrow. “Enough that I know what I speak of. We sparred once. He nearly gave me a run for my rings, so I should know.” For a moment, it seemed as the conversation ended. Markus stayed quiet. Auria did not seem the type who needed any encouragement to continue talking. “Putting pride aside for a moment, I will admit, I might have only won because the sun was in his eyes. A lot of unwilling pockets were emptied that night. Most were first time gamblers that betted because they simply wanted someone, anyone, to kick my posterior. It served as an unexpected lesson against indulging in games of chance, I suppose. ”

Markus empathized with the feeling of those soldiers, both before and after the aforementioned duel. That a Fatebinder would indulge in this at all was not something he found appropriate. Then again, this was Auria. He suspects she would implode if she did not regularly walk the fine tightrope that is being a contrarian while working adequately as a Fatebinder. Not that the latter requirement was a high bar to begin with.

“What about you? Dropped from the same womb? Cast from the same mould?” Auria mocked, but Markus nodded.

“That’s… a way to put it. His father’s my father’s…cousin, I believe. Don’t know the exact details, just that we’ve some blood relations.”

“Ever introduced yourself as Fatebinder Barikonen Markus then? Would be quite a mouthful. By that logic, you could have been the original Barik. The Barik we know might have to challenge you for the right to the nickname. If he won, the Disfavoured will no doubt make it an unofficial titled rank until Erenyos gives up correcting the soldiers and beg Ashe to make it official.” The male Fatebinder dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand.

“Nah, names repeat all the time for the Disfavoured, not something they’ll fight over. I’m pretty sure there’s even a Markus. Besides, I dropped the name when I became a soldier. Never been a huge fan of long names, or titles. Even Fatebinder feels heavy at times.” Looking back, Markus saw that Auria regarded him with enquiring eyes. The curiosity was brief, but he shirked away. She turned back to keeping an eye on the road before he could bring up the discomfort she is causing.

“Weighs on your mind, huh?” She asked. Markus relaxed from leaning away.

“Well, of course. It’s not easy making sense of Kyros’ Laws and enforcing them.”

“I meant your family giving you away.”

The words stopped Markus dead in his tracks. He turned to stare at his companion. Auria’s expression only allowed a matter-of-fact coolness to the surface. She brushed past his shoulder to climb over a rock.

“It is quite obvious. You have two major outward traits, coinciding with the identities you are willing to admit too. First is the strength and confidence of a veteran soldier that the Disfavoured cannot help but praise and admire. The second is a patient yet menacing demeanour rather reminiscent of a certain archon our lives are sworn to. Attitudes, ethics and behaviours are not drilled into us; we picked them up over years of exposure, especially when we are young and impressionable. Given that you are most certainly within a decade of my age, you could have only left your family while your were still a child.” Markus fumed, lips pursed behind his beard. His indignation did not stop the woman that stood atop the boulder, looking down. “Yet even with years of influence eroding our past selves away, some cannot help but maintain a sliver of meekness, one unspoiled by the likes of anger, envy or wonton ambition. For you, there is even a hint of gratitude. You are a man who desire little else outside of simplicity, Fatebinder Markus.”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.” Markus huffed.

“I have no qualms with such desires. I am bored by its frequency.” Auria crossed her arms, voice lilt, detached. “A perpetual sentiment that lingers through the ages amongst peasants and farmhands. Speaking of, there are only a handful of situations that a child from such families could become a soldier. Many, as I recall, are involuntary. A volunteer would have worn their name with pride.” Unease dragged between them as they stood stationary amongst the waving trees branches. Auria broke away first. She unslung the borrowed javelin from her back, twirling it by her sides in a butterfly outline. Markus sucked in a sharp breath and followed. He kept a steady distance between him and his irritating companion.

“You are an ass, you know that?” He scolded, “That eye of yours may be a damn asset to the court, but you’ll still be an ass at the end of the day.”

“I am delighted to have furthered our understanding of one another.” It was impossible to tell if Auria was sincere or sarcastic. It was as if she picked her sentences with the intent for both to be possible. “Now that I have come clean, it is only right that you return the courtesy, unless you want to wait until the Adjudicator drops his gavel on you and that ‘friend’ of yours? Which, I should mention, will take place after I have done my part ripping through the both of you. Someone will need to play prosecution after all.” She stowed the javelin away.

“If that’s what you want, ask your questions then, Fatebinder. I’m more than happy to divulge.” Other than a twitch by the corner of his eye, Markus retained his composure. Auria arched her brow in surprise. She did not expect his cooperation to come so easily. However, interrogations were the crafts of a Fatebinder, and they spared no one, especially not their own. She found the right words in a flash.

“Explain your friend’s actions at the Disfavoured camp.”

“You mean why she didn’t report in with the archons? Why she didn’t read the Edict?” Markus opened his arms wide, gesturing as if the obvious answer was on plaque before them. “Getting the archons to work together will take that that’ll go beyond the Day of Swords. Someone has to deal with the rebels in the mean time, so why not a Fatebinder?”

“I hardly see how not declaring the Overlord’s Edict helps in this regard.” Auria scoffed, “The proclamation served as a dangling sword over the archons’ necks, a reminder that they are in this valley to serve a purpose, not squabble like children. The rebels would have fallen, either at the hands of the armies, or this Edict. They should be of no concern.”

“What about armies and horde, separate from their archons?”

“Them?” Auria snorted, short, snide, slighting, cutting off Markus. “About time someone delivered some consequences for being stuck in a stalemate with the Oathbreakers for over three spans. Disfavoured units each have specific duties in place for when Ashe has yet to deliver any orders. Chorus gangs are meant to produce the shrewdest and strongest by pruning the weak to give themselves an edge. However hands-off Nerat is of the horde, do not be fooled into thinking they are incapable of organization; they have always had that choice. Both could have independently made a noticeable dent in the rebels, and yet both have failed to achieve even a smidgeon of success. Neither can be considered blameless then, in this case. The Edict is more than a fitting punishment, however abrupt they feel it is. That they cannot fathom what the situation has come to demonstrates an ignorance far worse than their ineptitude.”

Mark frowned. “For this alone? No consideration for the efforts of the last three years?”

“Of course not! The last three years?” Auria rolled her eyes, incredulous. Mark found he was beginning to lag behind her brisk pace. “Three years wasted as two Archons and their armies perpetually insulted, intercepted and interfered with one another’s operations, for glory, amusement, or spite! Had it only been one of them— say, the Disfavoured, as originally proposed— the Tiers would have been nothing more than an anthill against an Earthshaker. It could have been over before a year passed. But no, we simply had to give two known sworn adversaries an opportunity to engage in combat against a mutual enemy. What were they hoping the archons to do with this? Reconcile? Develop a begrudging respect of one another? Become brother-in-arms? Even the optimistic would deem the notion futile, and also comment on how severe of an issue they created. Remember how there were only a handful of us at the Gates of Judgement?”

Markus recalled, “True. A dozen or so scattered amongst the two armies in the front lines.”

“Joining a number unbeknownst to us that were already in the Tiers. No doubt those were all subterfuge-skilled agents, tenderizing the place up for slaughter. We were a solid fifty strong when the Bastard City fell, more than enough to support any campaign. However, our Adjudicator decided he must personally oversee the empire’s final conquest. He went so far as to relocate the entire court to take up residence in a ‘palace’ suitable only for the occasional winter retreat. The logistics must have driven even Calio to the brink of the Districts-that-were-Judged. And let us not mention the ingenuity behind the excuse of ‘bringing Kyros’ Law to the barbaric South’. Only the youngest wards of the Court believe in said fallacy.” Markus ignored about half of Auria’s ramblings. He wanted the conversation over, and the silence to come back.

“Your point is?”

“Point is, Tunon himself floated his smoky posterior all from the capital to the Tiers, and the Overlord likely only approved of it, because no other archon or their servants can hold the Disfavoured and Scarlet Chorus accountable for their every action. Your friend failed to complete even the basic premise of what we are here for: remind the two archons leaders and their armies that this is a conquest for the glory of the Overlord, not their personal pissing match. Her inactions are not only a dereliction of her duties, but also an act of disobedience against orders from the Adjudicator. And should she dare attempt to justify any of her actions, he will more than generously throw treason in with the heap of charges already building up on her head for the plots she has concocted since she set foot in this valley.”

“Enough!” Mark grabbed Auria by the shoulder. He spun her around, but her wrist pressed hard against his. Forearm rotating like a spoke, Auria deftly broke the contact. The sudden motions ended with a blinding spark. When they could see again, both had their hand hovering over their weapon. They trembled, fighting the instinct to draw arms against one another. The grass around them blackened, curling, drying. Heat rippled off of Markus’ body. Each word left his mouth like blasts of air from a forge. “Listen closely. I’ve known Delphina since before she was a Fatebinder. I watched her defend herself on pain of death in front of the Adjudicator with nothing but rhetoric and honesty. I watched her train, learn and grow under the best of our mentors. I watched her transform into one of the most capable of us. In all these years, there were plenty of times I had no idea what she was doing and why she did them; her jealous opponents are all to eager to exploit this. So I’ve done my part of keeping an eye on her to ensure she hasn’t gone astray, and isn’t under the threat of ending up under Calio or Bleden Mark’s scrutiny.”

Markus stabbed the last phrase through Auria like a pike. She did not react, not even with a blink.

“And you know what I’ve observed over the decade? She always got things done, properly, and she always remained loyal to the court, Tunon, and Kyros’ law. What you accuse her of simply isn’t possible.” The wind picked up, whipping and slashing against their skin, making a thousand invisible cuts. Auria did not back down.

“Your sentimentalism shields no one, Markus. The moment Delphina walked away from the tent was the moment she brought these irreversible charges unto herself. You risk your reputation siding with her.”

“Again, you’re speculating. There’s no evidence.”

“It is suspicion with cause, and only a matter of finding proof.”

“Proof? The only thing you’ll probably find out is that she values people!” Mark pointed out the valley they were in, the mountains that surrounded them. No doubt countless squads and gangs rested in their meagre camps, beyond the silhouettes of the forests and grasslands. “Probably a revelation for you, Stormcaller, that respect towards our compatriots’ right to live exists! People say that flies over your head quite often, or maybe you were incapable of having such feelings to begin with. Plus, you realize we’re also here, right?”

Auria gave a bitter chuckle. “Oh, you and countless others think I care not for the soldiers? This is war, Fatebinder! Feelings have been factors long abandoned, so stop displaying your soft innards for evisceration! It is as if you cannot wait to deliver yourself, privates and all, into the maws of a beastman.” Her anger emitted cold shocks, stinging like sharpened iron shrapnel stripped to dust. “People, are resources; soldiers, are resources. We, are resources, as we always have been under the Overlord’s rule. Every choice I made, be it in Haven or Stalwart, was for efficiency. Every decision delivered, I gave with swiftness and precision. I kept an iron grip on the army so they would stop shoving their heads up each other’s anuses, fall in line and do their job. I gave them the respect they deserved as soldiers, and the right to die for the glory of Kyros’ name. What respect I got in return, begrudgingly, was well earned, and not from kissing the brave and obedient between the legs and shoving poles up the backend of the spineless. I also never coddle favours by pulling said stakes back out a fistful, as so to give them an enticing amount of ecstasy to come back for another session, or tolerate seeing others being pleasured.”

Markus glared silently. Both the boiling anger and the audacity of Auria’s language deafened him to incomprehension. Knuckles cracked as he balled his fists. The threat did not deter the woman.

“To more relevant matters, yes, our survival would have hung by a silk thread just as precariously as any other, yet the current situation is no better. Tunon may have forgotten to issue exact orders, but we understand, clear as a body displayed upon a standard under broad daylight, that we were sent here to help ensure that the armies stop screwing one another. Ashe and Nerat need to step up to their obligations. As much as we are allowed to do whatever it takes, be it intervention, interference, or interception, our job is to enforce the law, not conduct the battlefield. Our messenger, however, decided it would be better to take things into her own hands and commandeer the war effort herself, rather than get the two responsible for this mess to clean up. That makes our job now levels more arduous than it could have been; the Archons have more than enough excuse to kick back and watch us toil in their place. If they are ever called in for questioning, Ashe would certain say he had ‘relinquished control as a gesture of respect to the Fatebinders’ authority’. As for the Nerat, I cannot fathom what reasoning he would be able to produce from the countless minds within him. No doubt it shall be as slimy as every word ever produced from his unmoving mouth. ‘It was no refusal; it was sincere appreciation! After all, we did not wish to risk spoiling even a single drop of the Fatebinder’s preciously laid-out plan, so we gladly left all of this in their capable hands.’” Auria mimicked the tone and posture of the Archon of Secrets. It was an uncanny resemblance, down to the mocking bow. “This is supposing, against all logic, that he does not have any other schemes up his tattered bandaged and burning rectum waiting to be defecated on the next unfortunate sod. The best and only option we have left now is to find your friend faster than she can keep running, remind her of her duties, and if necessary, drag her kicking and screaming back to the Disfavoured camp to do her job as she had been ordered to. After that, we can all wait in anticipation as the blame gets parcelled out, charges made and verdicts delivered. It would not be a bad idea to start hoping from this instant onward that you possess the fortune to avoid being skewered or beheaded by whichever executioner we may gain the honour of dying to.” Like fire quench by rain, embers of a candlelight fading, Markus looked away, exasperated, defeated, like a council member filibustered by his opponent. He drew a long sigh.

“Fine, have it your way. Right now, I don’t want to be distracted. Whether there’ll be a trial or not isn’t us call anyway.” He started walking again. There was still a way to go before reaching the Scarlet Chorus camp. “The Edict was worded so that it’ll lift once Ascension Hall is claimed, right?”

“Supposedly.” Auria reached for the pocket storing the note, but decided against any gestures of goodwill. She was not particularly interested in gaining trust any time soon, even from opponents and enemies.

“Then it’s giving the armies a chance to redeem themselves. Maybe that’s what Delphina’s working towards. That makes the most sense.”

“There are only three full days left until the Day of Swords. How much time does she intend to leave us with?”

Markus said no more. He did not even glare back.

“Very well, stone-wall all you like.” Auria whispered beneath the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Two chapters in a week?! (In seriousness, I'm posting what I can right now, because I can't slap myself to write more otherwise. Have to nip my own ankles some time.)


	5. Note and Letter

[A small check list hidden in the Iron Marshal’s glove]

Iron Guard: All informed and ready. At least the ones here.

[A very small note is scratched into the margin here.]

Radix deserves an earful of words, if not a fist.

[The note continues.]

Stone shields: Three-quarters gathered. Will be ready by morning.

Iron Walkers: All units ready.

Crescent Runners: Last inspection needed. No issues likely.

Oath Bound: Waiting on a small contingent to return.

[Another note from the margin.]

Remind Maric that pacing back and forth will not result in them moving faster.

[Note continues.]

Earthshakers: Markus has volunteered to look for them. Bless Kyros!

Additional: Find out just what is holding up Echocall with Antio.

Isotanis says someone is looking for the missing iron. Bad feeling.

Should Salveros be called back? Maybe a couple days more.

[The handwriting itself of the last line is hesitant.]

Funeral rites? Relatives to inform? Is it even proper to ask?

* * *

[A missive currently being diligently placed upon a table by a humming and jolly Scarlet Chorus man in spike helmet.]

Archon,

If only you had been here to see the spectacle that was the trial by combat! Alas, my memory, or some other Chorus member’s, shall have to suffice. The frail pretty little one did not disappoint. Sadly, I couldn’t convince her to stay. It’s a wonder how we’ve never been able to invite her to an in-person meeting over the last three years.

Verse shall continue to keep watch over her; they are currently on their way towards Tripnettle. There’s a gang in the region and I have informed them to aid her in every way they can and treat her with the utmost respect. And keep some salves handy. For the nettles, you know! Can’t have the Adjudicator come demanding compensation over any scarring rashes on that flawless skin!

[An awfully illegible paragraph follows, as if written without attention.]

I wonder what her beauty routine is. Should ask that question. I know a score of people, including myself, who would love to know how to obtain the smoothest of skins! Other than skinning, of course, but those just don’t feel quite the same.

[The message returns to normalcy, if it could be called normal at all to begin with.]

Speaking of Fatebinders, I have no idea where our darling correspondent ran off to. He’s helping I’m certain, but I haven’t seen him for days now. Terribly longing for that glowering face and voice of his. Should he continue to be “missing”, may I request that I be allowed to conduct the search for him myself? He has been such a wondrous ally of ours after all. Can’t leave our friends uncared for.

From your retainer,

Fifth Eye

[The name is flanked with what looks like hearts. Anatomical representations of hearts.]


	6. Red Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auria and Markus set foot in the Scarlet Chorus camp, encountering an unexpected fellow Fatebinder, and startling revelations...

The two Scarlet Chorus members sitting by the gate of their camp yawned, yearning for either sleep or entertainment to break up the monotony. In their lethargy, they failed to register the sounds of approaching footsteps until too late. Two tall figures in stately uniforms and helmets bearing the insignia of Tunon, strolled into the torchlight. The two guards scrambled to their feet, hands searching for weapons on their persons.

“This is Chorus territory! What do you want, maggots?” The younger, more hot-headed of the two shouted. Both Fatebinders came to a stop. The one in the back, a woman, nudged her companion aside, walked forward and removed her helm. Dark haired and eyed, her facial tattoos looked almost black in the glowing red light of the torches.

“Not the most hostile or juvenile of greetings I have encountered from the Chorus.” Auria stated, “Fatebinders Auria. The one behind me”— The man huffed in annoyance— “is Markus. Now before either of us lose our patience, please inform us where our fellow colleague is or step aside.” The threatened guard’s eye darted between her companion and the visitors, then smirked, the corners of her mouth twitched nervously.

“The one that came earlier? Caught a glimpse of her while I was still inside, but no idea where she went. We were told to expect more of your kind,” she regarded the Fatebinders with slight, “just didn’t expect the Court to send the brutish Firestarter and his mouthpiece underling to act as escorts for a lady.” Both Fatebinders raised an eyebrow, asking silently if the guard was provoking a fight. The other guard smacked the talker in the back of the head.

“Idiot! The woman before you is the Stormcaller herself. She’s been with us since the Gates of Judgement, so show some bleeding respect! Go find some Oathbreaker’s sword to die on if you want to be gutted that badly.”

“I find myself in agreement with your senior here. I punch faces more than I slash bellies open. Failing that, impalement with spears or javelins is also an option. In fact, I recommend both having your skull caved in and having a stick up an orifice of your choice. Let me know which you prefer.” Auria smiled, eeriely serene. The more senior guard grabbed the offender by the nap and forced her into a bow.

“Sorry, binder. This one’s green as swine piss. I’ll start drilling some manners into her right away. With a nail if it comes to it.”

“Yes, you do that.” Auria waved, gesturing for the two to move out of the way. “Now if you will excuse us, we would like to intrude upon your campsite. Move aside.”

Still bent over, the female gave Markus an obscene gesture with both hands behind his back. Her companion grabbed for the fingers and shoved it down with some difficulty. Left with no limbs free, the guard stuck her tongue, reading to blow a raspberry. She spewed a weak stream of air through pursed lips instead; the man she tried to insult never noticed.

A small bridge, hung over a trough filled with indiscernible filth, served as the only entrance into the Scarlet Chorus camp, stationed in the middle of a ruined fortress. The wooden planks racketed under the Fatebinders’ feet. That they could hear it came as a surprise. Usually, even at night, the Scarlet Chorus had the reputation of matching the bustle and tussle of Bastard City’s bazaar during its peak hours. Instead of merchants and customers, it would be packed full instead by horde members in the middle of gambling, infighting, arguing, merrymaking and stealing. The ground would always be marked by their passage with stains of red. It was no small wonder then, that their headquarters in the Tiers was aptly named Cacophony, a reflection of the never-ending boisterous atmosphere barely contained, ready to burst and spill forth in frothing madness and rage.

Tonight was different. Handfuls of dirt covered up blood splatters and pools left on the ground. Drag marks and footprints smeared any exposed leftovers, made in a hurried attempt to clean up. Tense quietness stifled the camp; there was less sound than even the Disfavoured at rest. The softest of crackling fire reached ears over the guttural snores of beastmen and agonizing moans from dying slaves. Gangs sat in huddled circles, repairing tattered leather armour or decorating them with the same red pigment painted on their skin. A couple of Furies examined their weapons, flipping them back and forth. Torchlight glinted off the blades. Blood chanters and their Hounds paced softly, muttering strategies. Anyone that made eye contact with either Fatebinder twitched, like a surprised cat on the prowl, before giving a respectful nod. Markus and Auria made no attempt to ask questions, only giving each other a shrug meaning “not here, I guess”.

Scraps of heavy boots against the gritty floor drew everyone’s attention. From the entrance, a man, slight of build and average height, dress in black from hooded cape to toe, made a beeline for a masked Scarlet Fury by the supply tent. Without a word, he swung for her face. The Fury never got a chance to avoid the punch. Her nose cracked under his knuckles. A second attack was about to be made, but the man’s own cape wrapped his arm other arm, obstructing him. Bystanders gasped and winced as the Fury stumbled and fell unto her side, clutching her face. Blood dribbled from under her feathered helmet and seeped between her fingers.

Still standing before her, the man untangled his arm from his cape. Flipping the fabric over one shoulder revealed an assortment of belts and bandoliers for storing small items and throwing daggers. The dark leather breastplate he wore was branded with the familiar golden gavel.

“Two, days.” He stared down at the Fury at his feet, husky voice pressed the syllables out through clenched teeth. “Two full days I spent, thinking I was doing you a service, Death Knell. Instead, you ungrateful swine had me walked right into an ambush.”

The Fury chuckled, “I knew you could handle them, binder. Could tell just by looking.” The man squatted down, grabbed Death Knell by the throat with one hand and pulled her close to his face until she could feel his breath on her neck.

“Oh, you think it’s funny. Putting a member of Tunon’s Court in danger knowingly is more than enough justification for a person to be executed. And I say the spikes around camp have been rather empty as of late.” The Fury’s hand flicked to a sword by her side. The Fatebinder caught her by the wrist, yet the blade was already in her hand. Under the man’s guidance, the weapon rose to shoulder height before stopping. The Fury’s arm trembled under the vice grip. Her push was unable to outmatch his pull. They were in a deadlock. No one dared interfere. They all saw the possible outcomes: it was either going to end with her stabbing him in the flank, or him slashing her across throat.

Vindictive as she may be, the Fury had Scarlet Chorus rules that demanded her to yield. With a grudge, she opened her fingers one by one. The wavy iron blade tumbled and clattered to the ground.

“Take it.” She said, giving an insincere and obviously feigned smile. “Consider it a token of respect.”

“Even a piece of scrap metal can’t buy your worthless life.” The Fatebinder tightened the hold on the Fury’s neck. The smirk on her face faded fast.

“Fine!” She chocked, words betraying a hint of panic, “Pouch at my hip. Was meant to be spoils I kept for myself. Take it along with the sword, if that’s how much I’ve offended the court.” The Fatebinder roughly released the Fury’s wrist. Snatching the bag, he let it rest on his palm for a moment. It weighed less than a half-filled waterskin, but more than an empty one. He pocketed the rings. Dragging Death Knell to her feet as he stood up, he released her with a shove.

“Consider yourself lucky, Fury.” The man kicked the sword up and caught it by the handle, appraising its value to see if it could be sold for further compensation. “I’m too tired tonight to deal with you any further.” The Fury staggered back, giving the man some distance. She whipped away fresh blood on her lips with the back of her hand, fascination in her grin.

“So the rumours are true. My sisters did always say that you don’t leave enough stamina left for whenever you’re back in the camp.” She mockingly gnashed her teeth at him.

“And yet they keep falling asleep from sheer bliss before they could scream ‘Glory to Kyros!’ or ‘Voices take me!’. Rather unsatisfying, much like your ‘tributes’.” The man walked away, back turned. He then shouted loud enough that the entire camp could hear. “By the way, Fifth Eye called you a biter!” Death Knell’s mouth dropped open.

“He…I…You…” Many in the camp, witnesses to the scuffle that just ended, fixed their stare on her. Most wore blank expressions, some were perplexed, and a few were coy.

“Didn’t know anyone was capable of having a thing for the walking piece of art,” the Fatebinder muttered. The Fury’s shock twisted into wrath.

“That weeping pustule! This siege has taken too long by far, and a woman has her appetites!” The blood on her lips sprayed into a red mist as she yelled back, “Before you judge me, you should hear what that little creep does behind the tent flap—” Faces balked and bodies recoiled at the account Death Knell delivered. A few rushed away covering their mouths; some didn’t make it. Guards patrolling dropped to the ground twitching and foaming at their mouths. Some hordes members around a fire rolled on the ground, or rocked themselves back and forth in a foetal position. A bloodhound howled in agonizing pain and collapse into the arms of a chanter, likewise weeping mournfully.

The haunting rippled through the camp like a song of fear from the Archon of Song. The Fatebinder that instigated this remained unscathed. He busied himself counting up the rings he had extorted. The fresh clinks protected him from the brain damage. As for the other two…

“Kyros’ soggy knickers! No more, please. I’ll never sleep in a tent again.” Markus covered his ears to no avail. “My mind...it’s gone. Can’t even remember what I had for breakfast.” Auria, on the other hand, crossed her arms and shrugged.

“It is a little shocking the first time you hear it, yes, but it is not as uncommon a preference as one would believe. Some people pay to have it done, and some people live off of doing this to those that requested.” Markus glared silently at Auria, then rolled his eyes hard towards the back of his head. The pain of it brought him to the reality that there was a Fatebinder here he did not expect to see.

        “Anton!” Markus shouted. The man in black turned. Seeing the two newcomers, Anton removed his hood. Angular gauntness and weathered lines marked a face rough and pale. Auria would put him at least a decade and a half older than the likes of her and Markus. Brown hair shaved on the sides and kept at a finger’s length down the middle, he could easily pass as a Chorus member, if not for the insignia on his armor. The goatee on his chin retained shape and evenness despite grim that suggested days of travel. Hooked nose, bent in the middle from being broken in the past, matched the keen hawkish gaze from what was once a pair of green eyes. The middle of three parallel scars cut through the right eyebrow, down to the cheek. The eye in its path was clouded and blind. “Guess you’re surviving the conquest, so far. There was a body back in the Bastard Tier that could have belonged to you.” Markus taunted as he walked closer, trying to get the better of someone for once.

“Yes, even I’m surprised. And speaking of surprises, aren’t you supposed to be a burning husk standing like an effigy outside of Vellum Citadel? The Disfavoured would have left tributes and asked for protection at your feet. Or put you down on the map as a landmark.” Anton brought his right hand up, tapping under his eye. Auria noticed then that the first segments of his little and ring finger were missing. “Though I did smell pork when I walked in. Could have sworn the Chorus slaughtered their last pig a week ago. Guess I’ve stumbled across the source.”

“You want a bite?” Markus pulled himself to full height, towering over Anton even further.

“Tempting, but no thanks. I’ve tried your cooking, and if I remember right,” Anton exaggerated a gag, “You overcook your meat. I’d imagine reading the Edict of Fire only makes it worse.” A pause stretched between the two, before both men broke into laughter.

“How long has it been? Three years— no, four?” Markus placed a heavy hand unto Anton’s shoulder. “Can’t believe an old bag of bones like you is still out in the field!”

“It’s been four for you, but only a year for me.” Anton took Markus by the elbow. “Come. My legs are dying from the road. I could do with a rest but talking will take no effort on my part.” Auria silently followed behind them. They moved to a group of tents more organized than the usual Chorus chaos. At the center of the set up, logs for sitting surrounded a fire. A Disfavoured scout that kept it burning gave the three Fatebinders a nod, then departed for sleep. Markus and Auria each took a seat as Anton looked around. Lifting up flaps and checking for the right tent, he whispered to the two. “A moment, there’s a Disfavoured here that could use some cheering up. Hey! Hey, Salveros! Brought you someone to cheer you up, pal.”

A muffled and demoralized voice spoke. “Go, away,” it said.

“I promise, it’s not a Chorus’ pleasure slave this time. It’s also not a one from the Disfavoured camp, however.” Anton took a step into the tent. He retreated expediently as a heavily armoured boot flew out and landed with a clunk. “Fine. I’ll drink with the Firestarter and Stormcaller myself. Speaking of drinks, all we have is mead at the moment. Someone drank the supply of wine I bought back in Bastard City. That entire box cost an iron ring just to get here.” From a nearby crate, Anton produced and tossed a wineskin each to Auria and Markus. Markus sampled the alcohol. The strong burning sensation mixed with the tartness of berries was a stark contrast to the plain and somewhat stale water they had while on the road. Next to him, Auria chugged half the skin in one motion, then exhaled a big breathe with a bitter face.

“Would have preferred the wine,” she murmured, and then kept drinking.

“So what were you up to? Something so important that you never wrote?” Markus asked Anton as the black-clad Fatebinder sat down on next to him while prodding the campfire with a long gnarly branch.

“Boy, why would I ever write to you?” Anton sniggered, “But really, I hadn’t a single second to spare, or parchment even. Spent spans crawling in the sewers of the Bastard City, climb out for a couple of hours each day only to crawl back in, sometimes even worse than I was already smelling.”

“And after that? Don’t remember seeing you after occupation.”

“True, we kept brushing shoulders, then you got deployed to… Haven, was it? As for me, let’s see… stayed in the Cradle a while, checking out the Districts-That-Were-Judged. Some point in the middle of twenty-nine I walked out with an important missive that simply couldn’t be sent by messenger birds. And that was what I did for the rest of the campaign, essentially.”

“Being a messenger? Only that?”

“Well, no. I did my share of adjudication, along with the usual tracking, spying, headhunting. Wasn’t going to feed myself otherwise. But yes, most of it involved getting paper or a spoken order from one point to another. That’s how I spotted you from a distance, just didn’t have time to stay and chat. Think I’ve been to every major city and area of the Tiers by now, and a good portion of some not-so-major backwaters.” Anton took a sip from his own wineskin. “I’m beginning to feel like a flightless bird. View’s probably nicer from up top where the bodies can’t be smelt though.”

Markus stared, silent and sceptical of Anton’s sudden melancholy. The Fatebinder shot a sour look back.

“What? I’m getting old! About time I start practicing how to be a miserable jerk.”

“Well, a good start, I guess.” Markus gingerly agreed, “You’re already a jerk though, no need to go further and end up not being one.”Auria chocked mid-sip and coughed, tears streaming forth as her lungs burned. Her hacks were answered with another boot flying out from Salveros’ tent.

“Keep, it, down.” The owner of said boots warned. Anton gave a guttural laugh in response, volume uncaring of the request.

“Salveros there told me what you were up to in Haven. A conversation here and there filled holes. Speaking off, those stories are circulating like— pardon my choice of words— fire. About half the new initiates worship you, especially the martial inclined. A few have… addition interest, outside of combat.”

“Kyros. More excuses to not go back.” Markus buried his face in his hands.

“When did you last step foot in the Court?” Anton asked. “You’re basically a faceless legend nowadays.”

“Didn’t get to stop by since after the Free Cities. The orders from the Adjudicator came down, and I went straight for Vellum Citadel. Stayed around after reading the Edict. Infighting was worse after the sages were gone. I only made my way here on command. Might have not left otherwise.”

“Awfully long, even for you.” Anton raised an eyebrow, the one unharmed.

“Not my longest, but it’s getting there. Speaking of long, how long have you been out here?”

Anton groaned, “Since before the rebellion. Ended up stuck here the moment I heard the outpost was taken. Received some of the first gangs, filled them in, and then sent them off to die. It’s been a never-ending stream since.”

“Didn’t know there was a Fatebinder here already. I— we weren’t expecting you.”

“Of course you didn’t. I was suppose to be on my way to… what’s that place, Lethian’s Crossing? Only meant to pass through here. Once the Oathbreakers overthrew the garrison, I’ve been too busy getting word to Calio that I’m alive and not where she thinks I am. Though that’s basically all I’ve done since becoming a Fatebinder: be anonymous while on the road and stay out of detection. Even our old Shadow doesn’t bother keeping tract of me. Right now I’m doing the exact same thing as I did for the last four years, just restricted to within Apex. It’s suffocating up here, if you ask me.” Anton rolled his shoulders and leaned back against a barrel. “Can’t wait for some heavy and humid air once I’m out of this valley. Kyros’ nethers, even the stench and chaos from those bottomless pits in the Cradle is nostalgic. I wouldn’t even care if someone threw their bucket of shit right unto my boots right now.”

“Ew,” Markus commented.

“Let’s change the subject before I turn into a rambling homesick drunk. So who’s your new friend? You finally decided to find replacement for that hole in your heart?” Markus glared silently as Auria laughed. She stood up and bowed with a flourish.

“Fatebinder Auria. Vanguard of Bitter Quill’s gang back at Bastard City, Deputy Governor of Lethian’s Crossing, war advisor during the Stalwart campaign, Scourge of the Unbroken, the Justice-that-Broke-the-Blade, and Deliverer of the Edict of Storm, shortened to Stormcaller, if it is to your preference. Also, the occasional babysitter or assistant to the Firestarter, though I believe those titles have yet to be officiated.” Markus’ beard bristled like an intimidated beastman. Alcohol residue evaporated rapidly from his lips. Anton whistled sharply, amused.

“A new face, no major visible scars or ailments, all limbs intact, and a string of accolades. How long have you been around, upstart?”

“If we include training, I am currently in my eighth year of service.” Auria answered as she sat back down. Anton rubbed his chin with a thumb coarse with calluses.

“Only eight? How long was training for you?”

“Two years. I did follow a senior binder when they first released me into the field. Unfortunate that it only lasted four spans. A combination of chills and sickness caught her.”

“Ouch,” Anton grimaced, “Not the cleanest way to go, I’d imagine.” Auria did not exhibit any particular emotion. Hints of affection were enigmatic, if there had been any.

“You would have to ask the infirmary. They were the ones that informed me through birds, and only as a postscript. I was out with Nunoval on a mission at the time. After that wrapped up, I was given free reign of my actions, to a degree. Most of my assignments were in the farmlands close to the capital.”

Anton nodded, “Not a bad place to be when starting off. Ever got called back to Court?”

“At first, yes. There were several occasions when Tunon demanded a report on recent cases. That or an equally strongly worded letter from Calio arrived. The worst was waking up to an intrusive and rude pair of orange eyes. All three decreased with time, thankfully.” A faint smile of relief surfaced and submerged quickly on Auria’s face. “Well, except Calio. At some point, she started requesting answers to the strangest of questions. The most memorable involved me asking a farmer ‘How many piglets could a sow of two arms length have in one litter?’”

“How many can they have?” Anton interrupted with his curiosity.

“Likely twelve and more, depending on the season, and what they have been fed.” Auria canted her head slightly. “In hindsight, I should have intentionally failed some of her requests. Half the missives I received from her during the conquest included lists of questions she wanted answers to from the next Tiersmen I got my hands on. Most of these prisoners, as you can imagine, were more than unwilling to give any speck of intelligence during an interrogation, let alone questions pertaining to cultural curiosities. At least, not without some encouragement.”

“Doesn’t exactly give you a good rep if you bloody the prisoner too much,” Anton warned, tut-tutting.

“Who said anything about bloodying prisoners and ruining reputations? The Unbroken knew not being interrogated by the Archons or their servants was a blessing already. The option to not be beaten to mince had even more appeal. Providing they answered truthfully, of course. The kind of lies some of them made up might have made reached a new level of absurdity for the Court records room. Most were trying to conceal how dumb they actually were. Some could not even answer how the next regent is determined and which ancient folklore dictated the traditions of what house. Weeding out the smart and sincere ones proved quite entertaining. Besides, the look of shame and confusion when they returned to the prison pen did wonders on the morale of the poor sod that came next. It kept them on their toes, and the subsequent was always more cooperative than the one before.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard of someone weaponizing what sages can’t stop doing! Well, drinks to you for utilizing Calio’s antics to the fullest. Though I suspect half those questions came from Rhogalus. He just doesn’t want to shoulder the blame.” Anton raised his liquor up to Auria. She gave a curt, gracious nod. “Speaking of reputation, full disclosure: before today, I’ve caught glimpses of you beating the gangs and phalanx into shape at Stalwart. They needed that solid command at the helm. Good work also on reminding the Disfavoured what ‘sharing’ means; there’re probably entire gangs out here alive thanks to that decision.”

“A lot of compliments to a woman you just met, Fatebinder. What are your ulterior motives?” Auria smirked, sniffing out a rat.

Anton sighed, “And here I thought maybe I could get away with not explaining. Though you are right. Our friend here won’t get it unless I spell it out. Well, sorry for his pride, but Candles here could learn from you.” He clapped Markus on the shoulder. The Fatebinder listening in while silently finishing up his mead had only just noticed they were referring to him. “How many times have I told you that trying to cut the mob into perfect squares isn’t going to work, huh? And yet you never listen.”

“Hey!” Markus straightened defensively. He had been enjoying the buzz of tipsiness mixed with the lack of need to talk. Anton barely acknowledged the offense.

“Oh, and thanks for the rings, by the way. Always did like to bet for the underdog. Next time someone picks a fight with you, do let me know. Could always do with a stable source of income other than fines.” Anton lightly saluted with two fingers at Auria. The two were getting too friendly for Markus’ comfort. He pointed a finger uncomfortably close to Anton’s blind eye.

“Don’t, you, encourage, her.”

“Oh, excuse me for corrupting youth, Fatebinder of Boredom, but gambling can be a profitable venture when done correctly.” Anton swatted the digit away from his face. “Of course, not all of it is lawful or just, but you have to minimize losses and increase returns where you can.”

Auria hopped in, “Financial gain aside, flexibility with rules is essential for games of chance, especially as a dealer. It also makes for a wonderful hobby, and is incredibly popular with the Chorus. Training two weaknesses away for the price of fattening the purse does sound rather appropriate for you, Markus.”

“Praise Kyros, someone who can finally shape this stick of melting wax into something worthy!” Anton mocked, “I leave him in your capable hands, O Great Stormcaller. The court would be forever indebted to you.”

“Naturally,” Auria winked. Upset by the two ganging up on him, Markus gave Anton a light shove, for he was the only one within reach. The older Fatebinder brushed off the cuff.

“Ah well, you’ve been roasted enough as it is, with the Edict of Fire and what not. I’ll cut you some slack.” Anton took another swig, only to find his bag empty. He tossed it aside with a sigh. “Auria, was it? Eight years back…which would be TR 423. Not a lot of people inducted that year around your age. A couple of soldiers and war mages, maybe a mage apprentice and diplomat too. I heard that one of last two didn’t survive his first lecture. The rest were either bitter, dried-up folks like me, or wards too young to be in training. Don’t remember any of those being you.”

Auria shrugged, “A lot of faces come and go in the Court, and we all know the Adjudicator does not recruit from training camps only. Consider me part of that talented lot.”

Anton nodded and accepted the vague answer. He shifted an eye to Markus, who neither cared nor paid attention.

“Speaking of remembering people, I remember you, sir.” Auria leaned forward, elbow propped against crossed legs, hand holding up the chin. “Except when I last saw you, you still had two eyes, and less scar tissue.”

“Ah, yes. You know what they say. Part of the job of a Fatebinder is collecting scars to show off at taverns and brothels, or intimidating your enemies during combat by telling them what you did to the one that dealt the wound. That is, if you agree with Nunoval’s idea of what Fatebinders should look like.” Anton ran a hand along the lower portion of the scars. “He certainly lied about how much it hurts.”

“Condolences to you on being deceived by the Court’s battle enthusiast. I doubt missing out on half the world and increased difficulty catch feints on one side of the body was what the Fatebinder of War envisioned.”

“I agree”— Anton caught on— “Ha! Clever. Real clever! Candles, just how has this one not blown that flame of yours out, huh? Though I suppose they were right when they say that some hearts burn with a passion.” Markus looked back and forth between the two in annoyance and disgust.

“You two are a nightmare. If I had someone backing me up here—” Priorities kicked back into place at the thought. He slapped himself in the forehead. “Motherless horde, how dare I forget!”

“I was wondering when the epiphany was to take place.” Auria kept a serious eye on Markus as she muttered across the fire to Anton. She chugged the last of her mead, tilting her head back. “Careful on the insults though, Markus. We are surrounded by them.”

“What? What just lit up the Candlehead?” Anton asked, still jesting. “Did you feed him Skycape at some point today? Alcohol hastens the effect, and he gets jumpy when he’s on it.”

“Anton, cut it. I’m serious here.” Markus stood up and started pacing around the fire. “And you!” He stabbed an accusing finger at Auria who leaned back, deflecting the blame.

“You forgot. Being the junior Fatebinder, I am supposed to follow your lead.” She stated.

“…I’ll deal with you later then,” Markus conceded.

“Even with one eye, I can see quite clearly that something is up,” Anton huffed, retracting his grin, “What is it?”

Markus rushed his words. “You’ve seen Del?”’

“If by ‘seen’ you mean ‘have I been hearing about her’, then the answer is yes,” Anton disclosed.

“Where is she?” Auria asked as soon as Anton answered affirmatively, words to-the-point and cutting. Anton looked at her, puzzled.

“She’s… back in Bastard City?”

“Where she was, true. What about now?” Auria chased. Something did not seemed right.

“Well, if she was back there… then she should still be there. I’m assuming, of course, because that’s where I last saw her.” Anton blinked, and then snapped his fingers. “Wait, I’ve misunderstood your question, haven’t I? I thought you’re asking about if I’ve heard about her during the conquest. I’ve met her a couple of times in the three years, yes. It’s half of why I know what Markus was up to.”

“You’ve spoken to her?” Markus pressed.

“You know how she is. Wasn’t even in the camp for a full minute and there she stood, waiting for me. We would have our greetings, share some stories, sometimes she gives me a missive or two, then I’m back on the road until the next time.” Anton scratched his head. “I’d thought you of all people would know her current whereabouts better than me.”

“No, not likely.” Markus corrected, “Del travelled far more between where she was stationed and the Bastard Tier. On the other hand, I’ve been nowhere else other than Haven and Vellum Citadel. I’ve not been back to the Court for years, remember?”

“Always thought something was a little odd when you said that. Didn’t care too much about it until you mentioned it just now.” Anton reeled a little. “Her stories sounded like she heard it straight from you. Even she agreed there was a whole lot of complaining about the Chorus and pity for the Disfavoured.”

“The only reason she knew what I did, and the other way round, was because I wrote to her, and she wrote back. There were probably ten or more letters— Hand me my bag, I can find them.” Anton handed Markus’ satchel from where he left it on the ground.

“And you continue to insist that the two of you are simply friends,” Auria remarked, dryly. Markus stopped to glare silently at Auria. He continued the death stare as he stuff a hand into his bag and felt around blindly.

“See, I’ve always said,” Anton agreed. Markus ignored the comment on account of knowing Anton’s nature of being a jerk by default. Auria’s judgement though, was far more frustrating, and distracting. It kept him what discerning what he felt or touched.

Failing to locate the letters he mentioned, Markus growled and tossed the bag in Auria’s general direction. Anton stood too late to stop the object. It flew into Salveros’ tent. A reverberating clang of iron sounded. For a moment, retribution was anticipated, but a soft groaning snore informed the Fatebinders that the Thrower of Boots was in deep slumber.

“Wow, less fuel to the fire, friend,” Anton held out both hands and gestured for Markus to settle down. “Seems like this is something way more serious than I imagine. Since you both are here, and asking about her…I’m taking that she’s here? In Vendrien’s Well?”

“We have visited both camps now only to find that she has moved on.” Auria likewise stood up, but not because she felt left out. She wanted to keep the men’s faces in clear view.

“What is she— No, it’s an Edict, isn’t it?” Anton shoulder’s sagged at the realization. He pinched his nose, right where the crook is. “Guess the Overlord got sick of waiting. I can’t blame him for wanting the rebels gone. We haven’t been quick and swift exactly here.”

“It’s not just that.” Markus said, “It’s not just targeting the Vendrien’s Guard. It’s on everyone that’s in this valley. Villagers, settlers, our armies…literally everyone.”

“Excuse me?” Anton hissed, eyes narrowed, “Is this some kind of sick joke?” Auria took out the message she confiscated off Ceveus. Holding it between two fingers, she offered it to Anton. The Fatebinder took the piece of paper, unrolled it. It did not take even two seconds for him to start cursing. “Oh, stuff Kyros’ left ball sack up my— We’re already sealed in, aren’t we? The tremors that were going on… Knew those were a little off to be the Earthshakers and more similar to the ones I felt near the Setting Sun.”

Anton dropped his head back and stared upward at the night sky, cloudless, stars twinkling. A few coughs from Auria and a beckon of her fingers brought his attention. He returned the message hesitantly.

“Well, if she’s here, but she hasn’t read the Edict… Look, Markus.”

Markus was despondent. Anton placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s far too late to go out looking for her. Darkness aside, you’ve…the both of you probably walked as much as I did. All three of us need rest. Tomorrow, the moment we rise, we’ll go looking for her. Sounds good, Auria?”

“I will support that.” Auria dipped her head curtly.

“Thank you. Once we find her, we’ll figure out what needs to be done. Before that, stop fretting. We both know her, and she’s doing the best she can while she still can.”

It took a moment for both Auria and Markus processed Anton’s word.

“Wait…what do you mean while she still can?” Markus asked, slowly

Anton blanked. “Swine shit,” he winced, looking down at the ground, “Of course. You’ve not been back for years. You generally don’t ask questions. The two of you have only corresponded by letters. You are an entirely honest person, while she…You wouldn’t have known, and she wouldn’t have let you know—” Anton sucked in a mouthful of air, then exhaled, long, deep, cheeks puffed and lips pursed. Dread filled his eyes.

“Anton?” Markus gave the man a light shake.

“Give me a moment, and also give yourself a moment.” Anton requested, “You…the two of you. You’ve both read Edicts, right? The two of you look fine to me, but there’s still something going on still. It’s like… how did Rhogalus put it… it’s like the magic clings to you, and won’t let go. You’ve had that going on since your respective proclamations, I’d imagine.”

The smell of cinder drifted in the air. The bonfire burned brighter. A gale ripped a nearby tent open along a patched seam. A spark went off between the iron boots strewn on the floor. The more the two reflected and the closer they approached the center of the magic that surrounded them, hidden somewhere in their core, the greater the tempest, the larger the eruption. The energy pushed against their confines, stressing, irritating, grinding, breaking.

Auria crossed her arms, her tone defensive, “If you are referring to what I think you are referring to, then yes. The two of us are luckier than most Edict readers. The one that read the Edict of Tumult had it instant, from what I heard. There were also several others that dragged on for a while.”

“What are you two going on about?” Markus looked between Auria and Anton, eyes demanding answers. “What is going on?”

Anton tightened his grip the man’s shoulder. The expression on Anton’s face pulled at Auria’s insides. She had seen this before, half her lifetime ago.

The air was hot and dry as hay that day. Glaring sunrays shone though window frames painted blue, casting golden sheen upon the ornate malachite walls and marble floors. The recliners, ottomans and tables were cleared to the side, leaving a large empty space in the center of the room. The silver chandelier overhead with its long spear-tip-like candles had yet to be fully lit at this hour of the day. Her siblings, two younger brothers and the youngest sister, linked hands and ran circles around her. Each had their hair braided with flowers, pink centers blending into magenta petals. Their white smocks fluttered like wings of a butterfly as they ran. She led them in a chant of nursery rhymes, speeding up each time a cycle ended. When their tongues tied and stumbled, and they could go no faster, the four of them collapsed into a heap of laughing bodies.

How long had it been? Kellin was only a couple of years younger and was gaining up on Auria in height. His skill with a spear had also improved by leaps and bounds. Cederin still had a full head to grow, being three more years younger. He spent many a day glaring at Kellin and Auria across the table during meals with envy. They said those in the family with eyes of a lighter shade have a harder time hiding their feelings; Cederin proved them right yet another time. Elanida barely reached Auria’s waist. There were so many years between the two sisters. It was why Auria taught her to count all the fingers on two hands. How long had it been since she last saw them in person instead of reading their words off parchment? How much had they grown?

Next to the window, in a lavishly carved chair, sat their mother, black hair tinted brown and green pulled into a bun, face decorated with designs similar to what Auria wore now. (She herself was barefaced then, as she was not of age.) Despite the warm air, she kept her thick cotton dress with long sleeves buttoned to the collar. Wrapped around her elbows was a shawl, woven from wool dyed indigo blue. The corners of her eyes and mouth creased when she smiled at her children. Auria was a splitting image of her, though far larger, stronger and fiercer. She was a firstborn, while her mother was the last of many. Though mother hid it well, there were moments where Auria would catch her looking at Elanida with a concern that neither Auria nor her brothers had ever received.

The door swung open. A familiar head poked in, short black hair, a silver circlet inlaid with pearls, a groom goatee. Their father’s older brother greeted them, jovial as the younger children. Cederin and Elanida rushed and hugged him about his midsection. His gold-threaded purple robe creased under their arms, and Auria made a note to gently chid her younger siblings for their impulsive carelessness. Wrinkled clothing made for poor displays in any situation. Her uncle, however, was most forgiving. He lifted Elanida with one arm, and patted Cederin on his head, commented on how they much they had grown. Auria and Kellin bowed when he looked up. He gave an approving nod for their etiquette. As sudden as his surprise, his gaze hardened as he regarded the two of them.

 _Auria, I have matters to discuss with your mother._ He stated, the smile on his face deliberately kept for the sake of the young Elanida, though it was gone from his eyes. _Could you give us a moment?_

It took a few minutes to convince her sister to help pack the toys scattered about the room. Kellin offered to carry the box and walked on out ahead. Cederin and Elanida stalled, one far more persistent than the other. Auria considered picking her up and carrying her out, but knowing the tantrum it would induce, she patiently guided with words and tone instead. Finally, Elanida relented, but only with the promise that Cederin had to walk her out while holding her hand the entire way. Auria gave a parting bow to her mother and uncle, and then guided her siblings out.

 _Genti, I…_ Her uncle was not a man who hesitated easily. All in the family were well acquainted with rhetoric and speech, as they should be, and her uncle was supposedly the best of them. _I’m sorry._

In the corridor, with Cedric and Elanida skipping off, Auria turned to close the door. Inside the room, Her uncle knelt before their mother, face full of sorrow. Mother’s expression shifted from raised eyebrows, to widened eyes, to gaping mouth, to shakes of her head, to mouth twisted in pain and tears streaming, hand raising to her mouth to stifle sobs. Neither said a single word. The call from down the corridor at the front doors, her father’s, made her shut the door in a hurry. His smile that day was just like their uncles: wide, deliberate, forced, accompanied by eyes that contradicted what he tried to portray.

She never found out from her mother, father, or uncle what the news was, but she always remembered the looks on their faces. The moment was an open flame in a library, a burning tree in a forest. Replenish the shelves and regrow the trees, the image remained sheered into her mind, fresh as though it had just happened yesterday.

It was like the repeated words: _The trees of our forests stay evergreen.  
_

Anton wore the look her uncle had that day. Markus shared her mother’s disconcerted look. The difference was that the news did not remain silent that day.

“Delphina’s dying, Markus. She’s been dying since she read the Edict of Stone. And I think…I think she knows that she won’t be able to survive this one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is extra long on account of introducing a lot of information, so thank you for sitting through! Anton's definitely a fun character to write (though I still like Auria and Markus just as much, and Delphina's a favourite for no particular reason.)
> 
> This is the end of the first segment of ACT I. There's still more coming, of course, but they might come a little later as some more polishing is needed. Love to hear from you guys in the mean time on what you would like to see! Cheers.


	7. Letter and Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An letter from the beginning of the span of Swords, and a recently penned note.

[A letter, most recent out of a collection. The correspondences are neatly ordered in reverse chronology, tied together with a leather cord. All share the same fluid script. They sit at the bottom of Markus’ backpack, carefully stored in an airtight box alongside other trinkets and documents. A slight glow of preservation magic emanating from the box protected the contents from liquids, fire, and other hazards. At the beginning of each letter, Markus makes a note of when he received the letter.]

1st Span of Swords

 

Markus,  
It’s nice to hear from you, even if you only wrote five lines. I apologize for making you wait so long for a reply. How are you, after the Edict? Having had the honour myself, I can speak of the fatigue it can cause from experience. I hope at the least you had it easier than me. After all, you’re still out there in the field. Meanwhile, I am sitting here in my room at the palace with no worries of ambushes or interruptions. Talk about a world of difference between the conquered and unvanquished. The way I see it, the last three years have been surreal. And all those years back I had naively hoped to be just another Fatebinder. I thought laws, letters, and the occasional skirmish was all I shall contend with until retirement. Rhogalus was right. Maybe I do still wish I were only a diplomat.

From your last letter, it sounds like relations between the Scarlet Chorus and Disfavoured have only deteriorated further post-Edict. I imagine you must be disappointed. Then again, we should have expected it given their archon’s history. It’ll be overly idealistic to assume that destruction of a common enemy would have satiated their bloodlust. I would even say they seek for more thrills now that the citadel’s been conquered. Rather than relocating to places where more hands would be appreciated, they instead turn their sights upon the nearest prey: each other. Endure the fists that are to come for now, dear friend. We at the Court will do what we can to see that one of the armies have marching orders and will move on from the region, or find other targets to pursue.

[Though subtle, the script for the next paragraph changes, as if a different nib or new pot of ink is used.]

As for myself, it has been nice returning to the court. Comforts aside, I have much to contemplate on. In fact, I have done little else, once you remove the hours spent in the Court’s new library and seeing to a handful of clerical duties. Our master has also not called on me to regularly attend court. Given the lines of loitering nobles, merchants and other seekers of justice though, I believe I am simply being kept out of sight. I would not fault anyone who played a part in making me all but invisible. Skepticism towards my ability as a Fatebinder has grown. No doubt the Adjudicator would prefer his trials proceed without murmuring gossips. I, too, should be thankful for being shielded from waggling tongues. At the least, the peace of mind is appreciated.

Should anyone say anything disparaging out in the field, please, don’t be defensive on my part. The sentiment that you have my back is enough, and I do not want it ruined by broken bones or cartilage, again.

[This next paragraph likewise differed from the one before. Unlike the neat script that started the letter, the scripts here are made up of uneven lines and angles.]

Despite what my more vocal supporters say, I will confide in you that like my critics, I cannot recognize my accomplishments in Azure as a success. After Apex, I thought it better, or possible even, that the same grace be extended to the barons and queen. I should have noticed the moment I was informed that the Archon of Stone awaited me there that such thoughts were better left in dreams. I was not sent to pen or negotiate another treatise; I was meant to act on behalf of the General and keep Cairn placated and in line. After all, I have seen what he was capable of, know what sets him off and calms him, and had briefly but amicably interacted with him the year before. Being recommended for the task made sense in anyone’s mind. I was the only one oblivious to both why and what I was selected for.

With that in mind, I utterly failed at the task of being a deputy handler. There were plenty of opportunities when I could have corrected his course of actions. If only I had kept an closer eye on [A word is scribbled out here. What it once said cannot be discerned.] Cairn. Instead, I occupied myself with meetings under the blue flag, greeting representatives of the barons and queen and extending gestures of good will. When the Overlord’s intervention delivered her judgement upon the Archon, it was the people of Azure, from royalty to citizen, who paid for my failure. The Stone Sea, what it is now, what it lost, what we lost, it could have all been prevented. Though the Adjudicator has stated adamantly that there was no need for me to stand trial, my critics, especially those of the Scarlet Chorus, are not wrong to demand one. I am the one responsible for the mess the realm is in today, no matter how you look at it.

[The scroll ends here abruptly. There are hints of ink smears and the outline of what was probably a pool along the torn bottom margin. The letter continues on a new piece of paper, of better quality than the previous.]

Look at me, it seems the hours of inactivity and introspection have made me into a thankless complainer. Master Havler would have scolded me for wasting so much ink, so I shall write no further of my own matters, and rather inform you of that which pertains to you. The other day, Nunoval asked me to instruct you to take good care of yourself (he was insistent on the term instruct, though I cannot think of anything that I know that you do not know of), and that he will be buying drinks when you return. That he sought me out while Rhogalus’s watchful gaze is ever present in the archives ought to demonstrate the strength of his concern. For a giant of a man, he is quite capable of giving people eyes like an endearing pup. The struggle I had resisting the temptation to reach out and pat his beard. Also, when you have that drink, I highly recommend you to start off with the story of the “creation” of the Burning Library and go down the list. He will not be lucid for long that evening, especially since Calio will likely be there too.

We all miss you here, and have you in our thoughts. While I know you loathe the squabbles and chatters, know that you have friends here in the Court. Whenever the Adjudicator orders your return, please come expediently. Many of us would love to see you again. Until then, stay safe and live well, my friend. May blessings be on you.

Sincerely,  
Delphina

* * *

[Another small rolled up note, hesitantly delivered to Fifth Eye by a young, shivering teenager in the early mornings. It burns between the fingers of a bandaged hand flickering with green flames.]

Archon,

You’re right, as always. Edict it is, though the ‘everyone’ part was a shock.

M should be of no problem. Played him like I was Sirin. He shall be none the wiser. With that, D’s fate is sealed. She did most of it to herself, honestly. (Finally.)

The problem now is A. She was a sly one before, and I can’t believe servitude under Tunon and the entire court’s scrutiny somehow made it worse. She nearly caught unto ME. Need to watch my words again now like the Adjudicator’s breathing down my back. I did think about turning M and D against her, but I have no leverage. I am at a lost, and yes, I’m infuriated by it. Here, I’ll splatter some ink to prove my point.

[Large splotches occupy a segment of the parchment.]

Though, perhaps you have something that’ll help? If memory serves me right, you have someone [The rest of this sentence has been burnt off, along with the signature. The letter continues to be consumed by the fire until nothing remains.]

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only noticed that I had a previous chapter named "Note and Letter" after deciding this one's. A funny coincidence, I guess? XD


	8. Meetings under the Moon and Sun

Eb studied her pair of bodyguards. The two dozed by a dying campfire, still dressed in armor, weapons by their sides. They were like Arri, young faces scarred from battles, tanned from marching under the sun. All that walking must have chaffed the blue fabric undershirt to the tattered state they were in now. Their bronze plates told even more stories, chipped and scored by weapons, arrowheads or spells. One of them even had dried blood splattered across their flank. Eb was curious whether it belonged to an enemy or an ally, but she knew better than to ask. The eminent threat of Kyros’ forces was distressing enough already.

The pile of firewood in the pit collapsed in a puff of cinders. Both guards jumped awake, snatching up their weapons, eyes wide and searching for dangers. Eb stayed where she was, seated and calm. She gave them a reassuring nod and tight smile when they looked to her.

“Just graven ash sending regards.” She pointed to the fire pit, a chuckle in her voice, “That one, not the Archon.”

With a sigh of relief, or perhaps annoyance, the two hunkered back down. Less than a minute later, they were snoring, having placed their full trust in the Tidecaster to watch over them, despite her bleak humor. For Eb, it was a strange feeling, having someone else’s unwavering trust while being a mage. Once, folks would have called her a witch upon seeing her, maybe even ran her out of town. Now, not only was she one of Arri’s most crucial advisors, she was an asset of war. It made her wonder what the pacifists of her school would say if they saw and heard what she had done since Kyros’ invasion. Tidecasting was not meant for war, after all. It was part of why she was the last of them on Terratus, holder of a dying knowledge that she intended to take to the grave.

Morning light seeped in from behind the mountains, competing with the purple-white glow coming off Eb’s staff. The gravelight that had protected them in the night began to wane. Come full daylight, they will be back to watching each other’s backs again.

The thought reminded Eb of family. Had her children lived, they would be around the same age as these soldiers. No, not just that: they would be the ones here, clad in the colors of the rebels. Her husband was a Pelox after all, and the twins took after him, down to their loyalties and refusal to bow. The four of them fought at the Gates of Judgement: her, Adenos, the inseparable Drevenor and Lorma. Acamus, her youngest, awaited them back home; even he would have helped, however a harpist could. If not for death, or disappearance, they would have stayed together, no matter what Kyros threw at them. That was the resilience of the Tiers no Northerner could ever comprehend. Let the Overlord send her armies, Archons, and Edicts, the Tiers always did claim that the spirit of the South would never be extinguished. As long as a flicker of desire for freedom remained, the resistance lived on, and there shall always be another to take up the mantle of the lost.

Yet behind that front of bravery, fear of the void gnawed inside. Eb warped it as she might into anger, driving that pain and suffering into her enemies, yet more would pour forth. It was like drawing water from an ocean. Unlike Occulted Jade and those that followed her into exile, the dread of Kyro’s invasion grounded Eb and her three masters more than it pushed them away. It even enticed them towards the frontlines, where the once superstitious simply shrugged and welcomed the support.

Every time they survived a battle was another moment of astonishment that they had yet to collapse from the carnage witnessed. In fact, it was the complete opposite. After each battle, Eb felt empowered while mourning those lost, while swallowing the bitterness of defeat. It was no different for her masters. So strong was the ecstasy of gained power, it consumed their fear of death. Each became obsessed with dying in a blaze of glory. All, except Eb, found the befitting end in the clutches of a stone giant and the trappings of his magic.

Would her powers be what they were if not for the war? If only irony could kill. And speaking of, it seemed some of Kyros’ own forces were opposing her in some way, during this very rebellion. Eb would have dismissed Florian’s tale to be an illusion, but if the most hotheaded of the Pelox kept the tale unembellished, it had to be true. With the information she gleamed off Florian, Eb now waited at the edge of the nettle-filled woods, waiting for the day to begin so she may search for the Peacebinder.

The incident Florian recounted happened around three hours after midnight. He, and a handful of his soldiers, had returned to camp after a full day’s of work. Though tired and weary, Florian found himself unable to sleep, body wrought with anxiety despite being surrounded by his own men. He donned his armor and left the tent, hoping a few laps of inspection would either calm or tire him out.

As instructed, the soldiers of the night watch patrolled in pairs. Most kept a low conversation going to keep each other awake, though it was sporadic enough that they could still conduct their duty. Seeing that they were acting appropriately, Florian moved on, giving nods in reply to the soldiers’ salutes. At one edge of the camp, the captain found his brother, Travost, sharpening a falx with a grindstone by a crackling fire. He too, looked equally tired, yet unable to find peace of mind.

Florian sat down and started small talk. He wanted to reminisce on how they wrested Ascension Hall back and expelled the garrison there, but Travost would rather discuss their next move against their foes. Unable to agree, they bickered for a few minutes, until a third voice, female, spoke from the forest before them.

“Do not”— her tone was soft like a faraway nightingale, yet resolute like royalty— “concern yourselves with my presence, Captain Pelox. There are unwelcomed eyes watching.”

The nearest soldiers jumped, spears sweeping, seeking. The two brothers froze stiff. Though their hands reached for their weapons, somehow they knew the woman spoke sincere and true. They dared not move even a single hair. Seeing their captains hesitate, the guards glanced at one another, uncertain.

“Your soldiers cannot be observed where they stand, but the two of you are in plain sight. For both our sakes, it is best that those spying remain none the wiser that I am here. So I implore you, continue to act as though you speak only to one another,” the woman advised. Though Florian adhered to her instructions, he was not about to offer immediate friendship to this stranger.

“Why should we listen to you, minion of Kyros? You’re here either because you knew where we were, or because you are one unlucky motherless cur.” He demanded, “Drop your weapons and show your face, then we’ll decide if you get to join your friends in the prison pens. Or make this an unfair fight all you want, it’s your choice.” A bout of uncomfortable silence followed. Was she pondering her options, waiting to attack, or planning an escape?

From behind a tree, a silhouette detached itself, gloved hands raised and holding nothing. Grass swished from being pushed aside as the woman stepped forward. A murmur of warnings rippled through the soldiers. Each turned and pointed their spear tips at the stranger.

The woman was small in stature. Next to the immensely tall Florian, she barely reached his neck. Hooded and masked, only her eyes were visible, grey like that of pure iron, gaze unwavering. Her lightly armored tunic had only two dashes of color: a subtle purple trim, and the golden insignia of the Kyros’ eldest Archon branded across the chest.

“A Fatebinder? Of course, the Disfavoured are too clumsy to get this close without a noise, and the Chorus too dumb to try talking. Guess that means Tunon’s lapdogs get sent in. You there! Unmask her,” Florian ordered. One of his subordinates walked up and tugged backed the woman’s hood and head wrap.

Dark bangs with large curls unraveled, ends gently fell to touch her jawline. The rest of her hair was pleated into a basket-like bun behind her head. Thin eyebrows above eyes that drooped faintly at the corners gave her an air of melancholy, though her full lips and prominent philtrum left the impression of a delicate smile. She looked younger than her tone of voice implied, especially with the button nose and fair skin. An unexpected gentle glow coming off the Fatebinder stunned the soldiers who have not seem her before. A few lowered their weapons. Even Florian and Travost retracted their hands from their weapons.

“Wait…I know you! Your face…” Florian stammered.

It was impossible to forget the representative from Tunon’s Court during the peace talks. The rumor that the Fatebinders sent one of their most beautiful was no exaggeration. She had captured the entire room with but an introductory sentence. They said that for the next few days, anything that the delegations spoke faltered before her, as if succumbed by her presence alone.

“Peacebinder, I’d hope to never see you again, if only to avoid a lecture.” Shame crawled up Florian’s face. It felt wrong to hold the diplomat under the threat of death while she stood alone and unarmed in the middle of the night, yet he dared not take any chances. Rumored had it the skilled negotiator wielded blades and magic as elegant and deadly as she did words.

“Like my brother said,” Travost lamented, “I did agree to avoid putting myself in situations where I’d meet you for a third time, Fatebinder Delphina. It seems with us breaking the terms of surrender, I was just asking for that to fall apart.”

“Captain Pelox Florian. Captain Pelox Travost,” Delphina addressed, bowing long and respectfully, hands still kept up. “I too had hoped this wouldn’t happen. Had it been inevitable, I would have preferred that it occurred under better circumstances. As you may have noticed, I’ve not been provided a blue flag under which we may speak at ease.”

“Blue flag or not, we do not kill the unarmed.” Travost stated, “We may have broken the oath in becoming rebels, but I swear on my life: you may leave this camp alive and unharmed as long as you make no move to attack. Even then, it would be unbecoming of us to give you anything more than a few bruises.”

Florian scowled, but his brother was right. Unlike the Northerners who were more than willing to murder captives in cold blood, they had standards. Unarmed enemies were allowed to flee if the cold fear got to their bowels.

“Thank you for the assurance. To offer one in return, I’m a diplomat by nature. I came tonight not to fight, but to talk.”

“Are you here about Tyrel?” Travost jumped to the assumption. Delphina opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. Her stare unfocused for a quick second, a glaze flashed across her eyes.

“Your brother, was he with the troops that attacked the camp at Edgering Ruins?”

“You have him? He’s alive?” Florian urged, but stopped when he saw the Fatebinder closed her eyes. Both he and Travost turned away before Delphina had even shook her head in sorrow.

“My condolences on your lost, and my sincere regret for failing to prevent his death.” Delphina dipped her head in apology. “I meant to speak with him, yet in getting him to lower his guard, I left him open to being attack by our soldiers. I can only beg for your forgiveness.”

“The dishonor goes to the soldiers that killed him, Fatebinder. I believe that you meant well, and yet they disrespected your promises in their bloodlust,” Travost reassured.

“How can you be sure of that?” Florian questioned, bitter anger biting through his words.

“Because I’ve seen it happen with my own eyes,” Travost reminded. The brothers exchanged a glare, and stopped pursuing the matter. A few sniffs went around this side of the camp, coming from both the captains and soldiers. With so few of them, each death hit harder than the previous.

“If, I may,” Delphina spoke up amidst the grieving, “no disrespect to your needs, but there’s an urgent matter I must address.”

“Go on,” Florian stiffed out a sniff, “We’ll find time to mourn, later. What else have you come to speak of then? I doubt your Archon has any forgiveness in him to give traitors, and that you’re here to offer us a way out.” Delphina canted her head at Florian’s comment.

“You will be surprised what the Adjudicator accepts in place of a sentence he has ordered. A conversation for another day, perhaps. Right now, I’ve come to warn you of impending dangers. Specifically, I wish to discuss a mission I have been assigned. The Chorus have asked me to assist in delivering you, Captain Florian, to the Voices of Nerat, alive.” Florian balled his hand into a fist. The veins in his temples popped. Beside him, his brother gulped, nervous and ready to intercept should Florian jump. His emotions have yet to settle down entirely, as they swung from one to the other.

The captain sneered, “So you thought to show up here and talk me into delivering myself over to that flaming monstrosity? Your actions led my brother to his death, Fatebinder, so forgive me for saying no to your request. Or if this is an excuse for you to goad a fight out of me, I’m more than willing to fulfill that.”

“Florian, please, show some restraint.” Travost coaxed, “This is the Peacebinder we’re speaking to. Remember, she’s not just the one who negotiated with Queen Alanta; she saved my life, and would have Tyrel’s had there not be others. She wouldn’t have placed herself in a vulnerable position if she didn’t have something important to impart.” Bronze armor rattled as soldiers shifted. They were getting uncomfortable with the prolonged disagreement. Florian glowered, huffed, and then relaxed his shoulders. Travost had always been more level-headed than either him or Tyrel, and his request was, without question, reasonable.

“I stay my hand in the name of honor then,” Florian proclaimed, “speak freely, Fatebinder.”

“I thank you again for your trust. Continuing on the issue, should I return tomorrow at the behest of the Chorus, accompanied by companions loyal to the Archons of War and Secrets, we will be forced into one of three resolutions.” Delphina look was full of reluctance. “First, in response to heavy resistance, all in the camp, including you, shall perish, be it by my hands or my companions. At the very least, this leaves the Scarlet Chorus with nothing. Second, despite heavy resistance that shall cost many warriors their lives, I will capture and present you to the Scarlet Chorus. This is most likely what they expect to happen. Lastly, you may surrender yourself in exchange for the safety of your soldiers, who may then leave freely, avoiding unnecessary bloodshed.”

“Unnecessary bloodshed? Don’t pretend any of what you are suggesting is a blessing, Peacebinder.” Florian said resentfully, “So I’m to sacrifice myself either way, and perhaps my men shall live to see another battlefield on which to die? Call me skeptical or paranoid, but I find it tall order that my crew will be able to leave this forest alive once I’m handed over to the Chorus.”

“A criticism I entirely accept.” Delphina agreed, “As much as I can give my word, neither of the Archon’s servants are beholden to them, as we now know. They may respect and honor my requests after mistake, yet that is not foolproof. A heady gang leader or commander would leap at the opportunity to kill even one Oathbreaker, regardless of what I have to say.”

“Then why are we still talking?” Florian’s patience grew thin.

“Because there are other options. A fourth involves me allowing all present at the camp, including you, Captain, to leave. With you in command, your men will likely escape with minimal casualties.”

“I can’t imagine that going well if the Archon of Secrets or General Ashe heard that you allowed that to happen,” Travost said.

“Indeed. Losing their trust would interfere with what I wish to accomplish next.” The Fatebinder chocked and coughed. She took a moment to compose herself. “My apologies for not being able to present that option to you due to my own selfish interests, but I have matters I must attend to that require the Archon’s good graces. It may sound ironic, but this is for the benefit of the rebels.”

“You, helping us?” Florian looked at the fire before him with suspicion meant for Delphina. “I don’t understand. Why would you do that?” The Fatebinder blanked for a second, as if he asked about something obvious. Realizing that she was, after all, still an enemy, Delphina sighed.

“These three years have taken enough lives at it is. My role here is to facilitate ending a rebellion, not total extermination. I intend to prevent any and all unnecessary deaths. Navigating the politics surrounding the two armies has given me opportunities to do just that. Right now, ensuring that commanding figures such as you stay alive is paramount to my goal.”

Florian grunted, conflicted by the flattery to his importance.

Delphina continued, “It’s no rumor that those the Voices invite to see him do not survive. I wish to avoid that risk entirely.”

Florian scoffed, “With all the options you’ve given, you might as well have shown up tomorrow to give me the speech.” Irritated, he took the grinding stone from Travost and began to sharpen his own falx. They were still playing the game of pretending that the Fatebinder was not there. “So why are you here tonight?”

“Because in coming here tonight, I can present a fifth, and in my opinion, best option.” Delphina stated, “Knowing this impending danger, you, Captain Florian, may elect to leave this instant with a small contingent of your men as bodyguards.”

“That…is indeed something we can do.” The suggestion piqued Florian’s interest, yet somehow the Fatebinder did not seem pleased with her own idea.

“There’s a caveat. If you proceed with this plan, come tomorrow morning, the Chorus scouts will take note your long absence. There will be questions of whether someone had leaked the information to you. I would no doubt become a suspect, and my movements impeded.”

“And get in the way of your interests, I assume? Just what will you be kept from?”

“Matani Sybil.” Florian and Travost looked up at the name. For a moment, they thought they had broken their charade. Travost quickly gave Florian a shrug, a gesture that he usually made when they heard an unexpected sound from one of the tents. They look back down and returned to their mock conversation. Despite their mishap, Delphina remained calm as a slow flowing river. “Echocall Crossing stands under her protection as of now, but it will not last for much longer. When her defense falls, I can provide a chance to escape, but I’ll need the Archons’ trust in order to participate in the battle that shall take place there.”

“So we must eliminate all possibility of you being suspected,” Travost summarized.

“That is correct,” Delphina nodded.

Florian huffed, “What do you propose?” Delphina took a deep, somewhat strangled, breath.

“The best way to achieve this is for those that stay behind to produce the illusion that you are still here, so that those watching will be none the wiser of your true whereabouts. Or, an possible alternative interpretation is that you were never here to begin with, and that this camp was always meant to be a distraction. However, in order to make it convincing—” Delphina took a somber pause, tone turning grave “—Someone will need to act as your decoy. Not only that, no doubt that the Chorus, or my companions even, will be furious upon discovering that they’ve been tricked. Even if I let your soldiers go tomorrow, it is highly likely that the gang will chase them down out of spite, and perhaps also interrogate them. This is a choice that’ll risk the lives of those that stay, especially your impersonator.”

“Wait, are you suggesting…” Florian gasped. He looked to Travost. As different as they were in demeanor, one could easily mix the two of them up from a distance, especially if they donned matching sets of armor. There was no better candidate that matched Florian’s towering figure and presence. “No! I won’t allow it! I will not run and leave my men behind, knowing that they may be killed or tortured because of my absence, especially not Travost! We can all leave this instant!”

“I advise against it, Florian.” Travost deterred, “Doing so is not unlike the Peacebinder allowing us all to leave tomorrow.”

“Then we wait until then and improvise! Maybe I’ll pretend to be agree to being taken, and then shake myself free of those Chorus rats somehow.”

“That’ll be too much of a risk.” Delphin shook her head. “Remember, I will be there too, and I have an obligation to assist them. Or I could assist you, but even with my companions, it will be difficult for us to take down every gang member and ensure no leak of information occurs. We can make a run for it, sure, but the moment we do so, my allegiance would be revealed. There will be no saving Captain Sybil then.” Delphina apologized, “I’m sorry, Captain Florian, but both you and Captain Sybil are of utmost importance to the rebellion effort. In my opinion, this is the only option we have available right now to ensure both your survival.”

Florian bit his lip and stared down at his blade. The Pelox family, once proud protectors of Vendrien’s Well, was dwindling in numbers; many of his relatives were imprisoned, enslaved, or dead. And now that Tyrel was gone too, he could not risk losing another brother.

This, Peacebinder, the one who had freed Travost two years back, now suggested that he be placed in mortal danger? The notion sickened Florian. Was that why she freed him? Were they in the end nothing but pawns to her as well? If this was how she played, fine. He could do the same.

“To think that you dare ask me to sacrifice another of my siblings… It’s funny, and expected, really, Peacebinder, that you forgot an entire option that’ll give the Chorus nothing, and provide me and my crew all the leverage that’ll be required to leave alive.” Florian said. His hand shook from what he felt was perverse excitement. He raised his falx as if checking its balance or trying to find nicks to repair. He was, however, pointing it directly at Delphina, as if marking her as a quarry. “A prey doesn’t usually walk themselves into our traps to give us an effortless meal, but I’ll take anything that’ll us out of here. Come tomorrow, you’ll have to forgive me for pressing my blade against your neck when those red-painted madmen shows up.”

“Florian!” Travost admonished, “Stow your weapon this instant! We may not be under the blue flag, but this breaches all decency and sanity. The Peacebinder deserves none of this!”

“She’s willing to bargain with your life. I don’t see why she shouldn’t put hers on that line too.” With a beckon, Florian’s guards closed in on Delphina. The one that had unveiled her grabbed her wrists and forced her hands behind her back. The others placed the edges of their weapons to her jugular. “I hear the Chorus treat Fatebinders like little overlords. Guess we’ll find out how much they actually care, won’t we?” Despite the threats and being restrained, the Fatebinder remained calm. Her eyes took on the sheen of a sharpened sword.

“I’ll admit that I did not consider this plan of action,” she said, “However, I must point out its flaws. The armies are aware that I came to Tripnettle accompanied by the strongest warriors that the Disfavoured and Chorus has to offer, plus an experience mage who recently offered his services. These are not your average phalanx member or mob, Captain. They are elite fighters not unlike you and I. Even if your entire entourage had descended upon us, you would have suffered heavy losses. In addition, me being in pristine condition would obviously rouse suspicion that I may, in fact, be a willing prisoner. Should a member of the Adjudicator’s court be present, I would be summarily executed with your men. The question of your survival would then once again be at the whims of a Fatebinder, one I have no doubt will have less interest in assisting you.” Florian opened his mouth to refute her, but Travost clasped him by the shoulder.

“Don’t go to such unworthy lengths for me, Florian! If the Peacebinder thinks that it is best that I remain to ensure your safety, I trust her decision. Think about it. If all goes as planned, she will be here tomorrow. There’s a chance that I’ll come out of this unscathed if you compare it to all the other scenarios. Besides, we all signed up knowing who and what we’ll likely die for, remember? If not for you, where would we be?” Breathe trembling and eyes wet, Travost’s smile was pained, but encouraging. “You must stay alive, brother, for the sake of the Pelox name, and the rebellion.” Florian gripped his brother’s arm, equal amounts of distraught and rage churning inside. What was it going to be, the lives of his crew, or the integrity of the rebellion as a whole?

“Peacebinder.” Florian looked to Delphina out the corner of one eye. “Can you ensure that my brother will survive whatever may come tomorrow?” Still restrained, The Fatebinder closed her eyes for a serene moment.

She answered softly, “I cannot guarantee anything, but I will do my best. You have my word.”

“I have your word, huh, but guarantees?” Florian sighed. He looked to Travost, who gives him a solid nod. Florian declared, swift and steadfast, “I’ll leave tonight. You four, release the Fatebinder, and pack your belongings. You shall accompany me. Travost, you’ll have to inform the rest of the crew where I’ve gone.”

“Of course, brother. I’ll pick up command here and see that the crew gets to safety tomorrow. Leave you armor in your tent and take my spare. I’ll don it once you’re gone.” As Florian walked away to prepare, Travost nodded to Delphina. “Thank you again, Peacebinder. First me, now Florian. The Pelox name shall be forever indebted to you.” Beyond that, Florian heard no more, his brother’s voice having faded with the distance.

A brief exchange of hugs and nods as farewell took place after Florian exited his tent. Ready to leave, he found Delphina, whom he thought would be long gone, waiting for him at the edge of camp, once again back in head wraps and hooded up.

“Peacebinder? Why are you still here?” He asked. Delphina pointed in the direction she had came from.

“If you exit the camp this way without torchlight, your leave shall be undetected.” Her eyebrows arched, suggesting a smile. “I too, wish to leave unseen. Incidentally, should we encounter anyone that intends to bar your path, you can in the heat of the moment, take me hostage and leave everyone involved incredibly confused, buying us time to make a break for it. Though that may require me to dismiss some testimonies later on, so let’s avoid that, shall we?” She wrapped her shawl around her torso, covering up her Fatebinder symbol.

The walk away from camp left Florian conflicted. It was counter intuitive to his desire to protect his men. A part of him felt he had forsaken them. Though they walked steadily and carefully, the internal struggle left him with a pounding heartache.

Yet the Fatebinder managed to convinced him. It dawned on Florian how difficult a task the woman had accomplished with nothing but words. He regarded the small figure walking in front of him with wonder. It was difficult to remove your gaze from her once she was in your sight. Were the rumors that circulated amongst the Vendrien Guards falxmen about her true then?

He stared a moment too long, for the Fatebinder noticed his attention.

“You look like you have questions on your mind, captain.”

“Um…yes. I do,” Florian stuttered, “It’s nothing much though, just gossip, mostly.”

“I’m perfectly willing to entertain a few. I would like to know how the Vendrien Guard thinks of me, after all. Sometimes I do make mistakes, which I try to make amends for, if it can be helped.”

“Well…” Florian thought of how to properly phrase his question. “I saw you for the first time during the peace talks, yes, but I was not in Ascension Hall when the negotiation actually took place. All of what went on in there is therefore second-handed. So… is it true that Queen Alanta proposed a political marriage between you and one of her children?”

Delphina’s laugh was fleeting and in good sport. “So the story still circulates. Yes, it’s true. I doubt she was being serious though. It seemed more of a term proposed to see what Kyros’ forces were willing to offer and accept, and perhaps to test my mettle. Her question was unconventional, but the strategy itself was not uncommon.”

“Yeah, she’s like that,” Florian chuckled, remembering the late Queen of Apex. He turned solemn quickly, “What if she had been serious though?”

Delphina took a moment of silence. Even in moonlight, her movements were mute and subtle. “I don’t see how my answer would have been any different. I already belong to someone so it’s unlikely to be permitted. I’m also of a station much lower than that of royalty, which makes me an unsuitable candidate for the arrangement.” The Fatebinder stopped walking for a second as she suppressed a series of hacking coughs. Florian noted then that Delphina might, in fact, be ill. When she spoke again her voice was hoarse. “Besides, marriage contracts are not usually offered during wartimes. Such subjects are better broached after a few years of submission to the Overlord, once regional tensions have lessened.”

“Are Fatebinders not allowed to marry?” Uncertain of the customs of the Empire, Florian asked.

“Hm? Oh no, of course it’s allowed,” Delphina corrected, “Pardon me, I didn’t mean belong as in working for the Fatebinders. I meant…” The Fatebinder took a moment’s hesitation while she looked for the right words. She brushed her right bangs back, fingers running over a golden earcuff that wrapped the helix of her ear. “I meant that someone has… reserved me, perhaps, would be an appropriate word. I have his attention, and he requests mine in return. I am exclusive to him, for the most part. Even if asked, he would not agree to us parting ways, even for the sake of a political marriage.”

An awkward silence followed her answer. Florian turned sheepishly to his soldiers, only to see his guards teasing him with mocked pouts and gestures for being heartbroken. The captain dismissed it with vigorous denial. The mockery behind the Fatebinder’s back halted as soon as she spoke again.

“Back at the camp you mentioned prison pens. Am I correct then to assume you have Disfavoured or Scarlet Chorus prisoners held somewhere?”

“Well, I’m not certain about the details. My crew and I have been out in the field. Captain Tarkis Arri would be the one you’ll have to ask. We treat them with respect, as always. And like we arranged with General Ashe, we trade one life for another.”

“I see. Thank you for answering. Should I meet the General again, I shall inform him of the opportunity.” Delphina looked up all of a sudden. “One more thing. Are you aware of why I’m here, other than to mediate the two armies?”

Now that Florian thought about it, he did not. “No. No word’s come this way at the moment for us.”

“Then now is a better time than any for me to inform you of that.” The information Delphina disclosed stunned the small entourage. Florian almost lost his temper over how much the Edict would have made everything not matter after all, until he found out that the Fatebinder had yet to proclaim it. And though he did not entirely understand why she imparted the knowledge of the exact wording of the proclamation to him, he kept it in mind at her urging.

Not soon after, the Fatebinder informed them that they must part ways. Her camp was in a different direction, and she had to return posthaste. Before she left, she suggested Florian to take the route he knew about, but had yet to use this year. Though surprised that she knew about the well-concealed path (perhaps Travost had divulged some information to her during his captivity), Florian followed her advice. It was while travelling on it that he encountered Eb and her two bodyguards. An exchange of stories later, Eb had her destination, and a thousand more questions she wanted answers to.

Someone once said to her younger self that coincidences can be suspicious, or inspiring. At some point, Eb started to hold onto the belief that the statement should not be an either-or. Rather, both should be true, as they are part of a coincidence’s nature. Good tidings can be natural or artificial, intentional or unintentional. Discovering which it is, however, was a futile exercise. All seafarers should instead concentrate on steering towards your destination. This was far more important than questioning where that current or draft of wind came from. It was not going to matter if you did no keep your eye on where you were going, and miss your destination entirely, or worse, steer yourself into the rocks of a cliff just waiting to sink you.

As that thought passed from Eb’s head, the Peacebinder and her entourage walked into view. The plains below the terrace that Eb and her soldiers conducted their stakeout from was flat and clear for travel, a preferred route than the thicket around them. The Fatebinder, like Florian described, had her hood up and face wrapped, shoulders draped with a dark shawl. Directly in front of her was a Scarlet Fury, a woman clad in rag-tag armor and leather helm. A bulky mass of rusted metal weaponry and armor fused into shell encased the tall soldier walking behind them, joints creaking with every step. Lastly, a sage, older than even Eb’s masters, lanky and bearded, exposed arms bandaged, followed as he scribbled away at a scroll.

They had four on their side. Eb and her guards were outnumbered. She had no other choice, however. The encounter was now or never.

“That’s far enough, Fatebinder!” Eb called out and stepped forward, planting her staff down like a standard. Her guards followed right by her side, legs shuddering as they moved.

The four travellers halted. The Fury and metal figure tensed, regarding the water mage and Vendrien Gaurds with hostility. The sage rose his brow, amused by the interception, his scribbling continuing. As for the Fatebinder, she stood composed and at ease amongst her companions. It was as if she expected the Tidecaster’s appearance. Eb was not sure if she should feel relieved or weary in return.

“I must first apologize, Peacebinder, for dishonoring the surrender you offered years ago. I will not excuse nor defend our actions. Despite what we have done, we realize our debt to you for the charity and humanity you have extended during these chaotic times.”

Eb’s words did not leave her mouth the way she planned them to go, but the sentiment was still intact. She gulped as the ironclad figure and Fury turned to the Fatebinder, waiting for further instructions. The Fatebinder gave a nod, dismissing the enmity. The Vendrien Guards by Eb were still on their toes, however. Even with the distance between the two groups and the higher ground, these enemies could easily take them out in a matter of seconds. If only they had been by a pond or river. If things went under, Eb would need more than just the blue fabric draped over an arm to ensure her own safety.

“In accordance with ancient customs north and south, I offer and request a delay of blade. There are matters we must discuss without fear of reprisal,” Eb declared the age-old phrase with a deep bow, a gesture that her escorts did not follow. How was the Fatebinder going to respond?

“In accordance with ancient customs north and south, I abide by this truce,” the Fatebinder mirrored, voice soft from the distance between them. “From the two that stand next to you, Tidecaster, am I right to assume you have come on behalf of the Vendrien Guard?”

“You are indeed correct,” Eb smiled, not one given in friendship, but rather out of formality. “I am Eb of the School of Tides, and I see you remember my masters to some degree. To die in a duel against the Archon of Stone was more honorable than having our knowledge stolen and fed to the Voices of Nerat. Despite their deaths, I thank you and Fatebinder Rhogalus for said arrangement and giving my loved ones a worthy end.”

“I would—” The Fatebinder broke into a fit of spastic cough. So Florian was right. The Peacebinder was sick after all. “Pardon me. I would share your fondness, Tidecaster, had I been able to sway all parties involved to a conclusion whereby your masters could have lived. Alas, that was all I could provide them as an agent of Kyros, and I thank you for your acceptance of the situation. However, I doubt you called for my attention simply for the purpose of reminiscing on the past. As an emissary of the Court of Fatebinders, I request that you state what is it you’ve come for, please.”

“Well, if that is what you wish, Peacebinder. Even while defending our lands, our customs dictate that we kill only in fair combat and battles. While I understand that Kyros’ armies do not practice this, we nevertheless hold onto hope that our kin still live.”

“Brave of you to continuing holding such optimism, even in the face of having been branded as Oathbreakers.” The Fatebinder commented, “But more importantly, it is next to impossible for unconditional releases to be negotiated. Do you have something to offer in exchange?”

“That we do. We currently hold five Choirmen as prisoners, rounded up from a stray patrol. They are all in healthy condition, and have all their limbs–”

“Are there no Disfavoured amongst your prisoners?” The Fatebinder cut in.

Eb blinked, “We have exchanged a few in the past, but right now, I am not aware of any that are up on the market.” Eb cursed internally at her improv. The metal shell shuddered in response to the offense to her words. At least now she knew which one was the Disfavored elite of the team.

The Fatebinder apologized, “Sorry for my interruption, Tidecaster. A friend requested I keep an eye and ear to the ground for any of his missing scouts. I shall interrupt no more. Please, finish your request.”

“I…see. Well, as I was about to say, if Captain Tarkis Demos still lives, we would like to negotiate for his release, in exchange for these prisoners.”

The Fatebinder opens her mouth to speak, but pauses. A shadow of regret passed over her eyes. “Tarkis Demos. He is Tarkis Arri’s… brother, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Eb arched an eyebrow. It was unusual that a Northerner knew anything about Apex’ noble houses, let alone specific relations. Then again, the Fatebinder before her was the Peacebinder. If anyone needed to know the ins and outs of royal and noble lineages, it would be her. “Arri takes family seriously, and I volunteered to come for answers.”

The Fatebinder sighed, “It is with sorrow that I must inform you, and Captain Tarkis Arri, that Tarkis Demos is dead.”

“I understand,” Eb said with gravity, “We feared as much. At least we have some closure on the matter. The Captain would have gone on thinking wishfully otherwise.”

“If a burial would help ease her mourning, you may find his body near the entrance of Edgering Ruins.”

“Thank you for that information. Perhaps, if any of us live once this rebellion is over.” Eb puzzled over her next move. The Peacebinder was dancing around carefully with her words. Chances were, she knew that Florian and Eb would cross paths, yet how much did her party of escorts know? How much did she want them to know? Eb decided to test out the waters. “One more question, if I may. What about Pelox Tyrel? Did he survive?” The Fatebinder stared. Was she coming up with a lie, or was something else going on?

“I’m afraid while I recognize that name, I do not know the man’s face,” the Fatebinder replied. So it seemed her party did not know about last night’s meeting, and she did not want them to. “Did he have any particular features? Scars that may be visible?” Occult Jade’s nipples, though Eb could once recognize Tyrel with an entire forest between them, to describe them were another thing. Why was the Fatebinder making this so difficult?

“Never thought I’d have to do something like this. Well, like all Peloxes, he’s rather tall, and brash. Scarred in far too many places for any to be obvious. He was with Demos, however, if that narrows it down.”

“What about what he wore? Any particular weapon or accessories?” Eb almost snapped, but then it came to her head. Tyrel had been showing off a bangle before he left. He made a deal about how he could wear it and make no sound.

“Actually, yes. He had a bangle on his right arm. One that fit very well and did not jingle like the others would.” At the mention, the Fury next to the Fatebinder slowly pulled her arm back behind her back, and looked away. The Fatebinder did not seem to notice.

“Then I’m afraid he is dead too,” the Fatebinder sighed, “My condolences.” Eb simply nodded. It was more draining to hear it in person.

“We had expected the worse. Thank you for answering.” Now that she had completed the essentials of what she came for, Eb wondered how much more she could get out of the Peacebinder. “I would not press you patience any further, but, if you have the time to spare, may I inquire about the magic that has been causing the quakes?” At Eb’s request, the man inside the metal suit, gender revealed by his deep voice, shifted to face the Fatebinder.

“We shouldn’t socialize with the enemies, Fatebinder. They’ve held us for long enough.” Yep, definitely a Disfavored.

“To my own amazement, I’m agreeing with the hunk of iron here.” The Fury piped in. The sage looked up from his scribbling to speak, while his hand kept moving.

“Well, if its not too much trouble, I would like—”

“Shut up, old man. Did you hear any of us ask for your input?” The Fury snapped. The sage flinched, but listened to the Fury, and said no more. Seeing her companion’s impatience, the Fatebinder bowed.

“I’m afraid I cannot indulge your curiosity, Eb. You have more questions than we have patience or time. If I were you…” The Fatebinder’s grey eyes glinted with a hint of…something. Eb was not sure if it was caution, secrecy, or treachery that crossed her mind when their gaze met. “I would save them for… another opportunity.”

“Well, I suppose I’ve the rest of my life, however short it is, to wait for that. You have given me what I seek for, that is more than enough. While I cannot provide any information of those missing Disfavored scouts...” Eb trailed on intentionally to grab the interest of the companions. What was her plan here? What needed to be done? Time, she needed more time, so did the Peacebinder. At least, that was what her hunch told her. “There’s a village that’s been razed to the ground about two hours trek westward of here. It was quite close to where we grab those scouts, actually. Even though it’s been picked clean though, there seems to be quite a bit of Chorus activity going on there. Not sure if that’s something you want to look into, but at least now you know.”

“Don’t listen to her, Fatebinder! These Oathbreakers cannot be trusted. They could have prepared a trap there for all we know,” The metal man protested.

“Gangs running loose in a place that I haven’t been informed about though? Even that smells of reeking fish to me.” The Fury cocked her head back to look back at the Fatebinder. “I wouldn’t mind the trek back. Then again, I’m not lugging a cart’s worth of spoils around all the time.” Before a bicker began, the Fatebinder raised her hand. The two companions stowed their words away, leaving one incensed, the other gloating.

“Thank you for the information, Eb. I shall look into the matter, right away,” the Fatebinder bowed. While she was coming back up, they gaze met with an understanding shared despite never spoken of.

“Of course.” Eb bowed in return, “In accordance with our ancient customs north and south, let us part with peaceful accord. May peace find you, Fatebinder.”

Eb walked away, the sound of a reignited argument fading behind her. The guards beside her gave a sigh of relief, and she smiled at them, assuring them that the danger has passed, for now. She knew what to do next. The Peacebinder had her half of the plan to execute, and Eb had the other half. This, was why the Fatebinder wanted Florian to engrave the exact wording of the Edict into his head.

Arri had mentioned the arrival of other Fatebinders. Maybe they would be more easily coaxed into answering some important questions, and use up some precious time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had me clawing the walls for days, because of one freaking ambition I had: The seamless transition into another character's flash back, and then a flash forward that returns to the original POV character. Not sure how it went, as I've got editor's fatigue now (which is what I call the chapter long version of semantic satiation) and cannot judge for the life of me. XD
> 
> I would love comments, suggestions and critiques on anything in this chapter (and others) that needs tweaking! As always, thanks for reading! <3


	9. The Northern Clearing

“Come out here and face our bronze, you cowards!” A Vendrien Honor Guard shouted upwards, letting the air carry his words over a giant boulder. Behind him, his squad stood at the ready in the clearing, brightly lit by sun just a little past midday. The Outrunner with twin blades wiped away blood still wet from the recent skirmish. Arrow notched in his bow, the archer kept an eye out into the surrounding forest. Further from them still, stoop over the body of an Earthshaker, a volunteer sage searched for any item of use. The Sun Soldier with her spear watched over the looting, one boot planted firm on the corpse’s back. Though they were unopposed, the fight that started minutes before was unfinished, as far as they were concerned.

Behind the obstacle, a group of panicking Earthshakers looked wearily at one another. A few leaned against mountain walls or trees, out of breath and shaking from adrenaline. Others stood rigid in shock and fear. The seconds ticked by, measured by their rapid heartbeats. By breaking off a large chunk of stone off the side of the cliff, they had shielded themselves away from the enemy. The small pocket, however, also sealed them in. They were trapped in the clearing, with seemingly no way out.

“Sir, what should we do?” Voice reflecting her depleted energy, one of the Earthshakers asked their leader, Helspar. He regarded their situation; with Grisandere lying dead where the Oathbreakers were, their travel-worn circle was down to a handful. They were short on time, as those on the other side of the giant shield were all too eager to see them captured or dead.

“Do we have any messenger birds?” He asked.

“Grisandere carried our last one. I don’t think it survived whatever the sage did though.” A female Earthshaker lowered another to the ground. The one being supported had a large wound in his leg. While some quick application of bloodmoss staunched the injury, even the Aegis would need some time to stitch it back up. “Maybe we should try carving a way out?”

“No, we’re unfamiliar with these areas, it’ll take too long to try to come out a good distance away. It’s only a matter of time before they figure out that they can just climb over this thing and pick us off from high ground.”

“Not so brave without Cairn now, are you, earth witches?” The Oathbreaker taunted again. “Got too used to hiding under that giant’s skirt? I’d imagine it must had been terrible whenever he passed wind!” Despite the insult to their late Archon, the Earthshakers did not dare speak back.

“We must try something! Otherwise what, wait until the General’s scouts arrive?” Hissed the one sitting on the ground, nursing his leg, “Even if they did find us, we’ll still need to get out there and take care of them. With that sage there though, I’m not looking forward to it.” The woman that helped him sighed.

“That mage did take a chuck of my hair with that corroding spell. If we ever face them again, I suggest we stay scattered.”

“Face them? Are you listening to yourself?!” The injured one ranted on, “We’re Earthshakers! That makes us battle mages at best, not members of a Phalanx! Unless we somehow all wrap ourselves up in impenetrable stone, I don’t see how we’re going to get past those murderous rebels.”

“Not a bad idea, though it would certainly impede our movement, I think. That might make it harder to run—” The youngest amongst them mused, unusually inquisitive despite the danger. None of the other Earthshakers wanted to deal with distractions, however

“Shut up you! If you’ve got time pondering upon a new spell, how about thinking up something that’ll get us out of here?” The injured one waved his arms angrily, and winced when he agitated his wound. Helspar sternly tapped his staff on the ground, sending a small tremble.

“Stop the arguing. We may not have enough strength right now to dig our way out, but at the very least we can make the sides harder to climb up. Also, a few overhangs that’ll provide shelter shouldn’t be beyond our strength. So get to it—”

“Alright, dog droppings, how about this?” The Honour Guard chimed in again. “Either you let yourselves out and surrender, or we’ll climb in there to fish you out ourselves, once some reinforcements arrive.” The mention of reinforcements sent another ripple of responses amongst the circle of Earthshakers, but they still gave no reply. Over the giant boulder, the Outrunner rolled her eyes.

“I think your insults aren’t what they used to be, sir.” She tapped her blades against one another. “Maybe you should go back to insulting their mothers? Those always seem to work.”

“Bah, don’t bother. These guys? They’re probably grown in the ground. Or carved from the mountains.” The archer laughed, “Or maybe that Archon of theirs shits them out by the dozens. Hey, isn’t that right you rock lickers? Guess that makes you all siblings, so I won’t suggest getting too frisky in that little cove of yours!”

The sage looked up hesitantly. “Have the Vendrien Guards always been like this?” He asked the Sun Soldier, who sighed and grinded her boot down. Snapping of ribcage bones emanated from the corpse. The sage hastily retracted his arm as the torso collapsed with a squelch.

“No, we vetted our recruits back when we could, but we can’t afford to be picky nowadays. That guy there used to curtail it because he had a captain breathing down his neck. With the rebellion, somehow, he moved up the ranks. Now he goes around throwing that shit-eating mouth of his around.” The Sun Soldier removed her boot from the corpse. “I’m just waiting for the day when I get that promotion, either because he died, or someone else kicked the barrel. Hopefully it’s the latter, because I want to see what he’ll look like when I tell him to go chock on a phallus.”

“Well, I’ll… see if some of my yet-to-be-convinced colleagues could still be swayed, then. May be some minds of higher intelligence will improve language around here.”

“Not if they drag you into those drinking sessions.” The Sun Soldier shook her head and walked towards the other three. “Hey captain! Think maybe it’s time we find some other method other than shouting? I think our magic thrower here’s all charged back up for another round.”

The Outrunner smiled, “I was wondering when someone would suggest that. What’d you say, sir? I think I can certainly find a way up. Stone bangers, you better be ready to have more skin melted off your bones!” She made sure to shout that as loud as she could.

“Or we can save all that effort and just starve them to death. Wonder if they’ll resort to cannibalism,” the archer suggested, “Or if you want to make it easy for us, I can shoot a poison arrow or two over that you can all nick yourselves with! Won’t kill you right away, but it’ll get to you, eventually. It’s at least faster than starvation.”

On the other side of the rocks, the three Earthshakers standing closest to the barrier turned their heads. The pull of arcane energy they had created flickered under their distraction. “Helspar, you hear that?” The leader grimaced, and turned away from the alcove he had only half carved out from the side of the valley.

“I did. You two! Get the injured under the overhangs or into an alcove. Rest of you, form a line behind me. The front will hold off the ones that rush in. Back line, concentrate on the sage—” A surprised and horrified yell ripped through the air from the Oathbreaker’s side. An abrupt silence followed. Roaring with rage, scale bronze armor crunched to thumps at a rapid tempo, charging in vengeance for their fallen sage.

Something smacked into the sprinter and stopped her motion. She fell to the ground with a startled cry. A wooden pole whipped through the air in an arc and plunged. Metal gave way to metal with a screech. Shock filled the Sun Soldier’s strangled gasp, her last breathe to ever be exhaled. The archer’s bowstring twanged, but the arrow broke with a crack against a surface. Though he yelled and stumbled back, a second arrow was never notched. A thick and echoing battle cry accompanied a blade swung. Whatever target they aimed at hit a tree with a thud and rolled to a stop.

“Behind—”A yelp of pain and wet cough cut the husky warning short. Two thumps and corresponding grunts followed, before a sharp inhale. Armor clattered as they slumped down with its wearer. “Well, guess you’ve got that covered. Remind me not to stand near you with weapons in my hands, ever.” the man mused.

“Stay…Stay away!” The Honor Guard that had been taunting a minute before stammered.

“So, who gets the cornered mouse?” A woman asked, “I much prefer not staining my gloves with sniveling cowards who wasted their time conjuring atrocious insults from wet armpits. There are worthier kills to make.”

“If he runs, I might be interested,” The husky one said. A short, sharpened length of iron whipped through the air, and the Vendrien Guard screamed in pain. “Except he can’t anymore. I leave the honors to you, candle head.”

“Insufferable pricks.” The last of trio admonished, “Say your prayers, Oathbreaker. I’ll make this quick.”

“No! Mercy—” The plea ended with a mushy crack.

All that was left was the **susurrating forest surrounding the clearing**. The Earthshakers held their position, transfixed. Who were these people, friend or foe?

“You can come out now.” The husky man declared, “Don’t expect any of us to climb over and display ourselves. They don’t teach us how to tackle vertical challenges in Tunon’s Court.”

“Fatebinders!” Helspar sighed in relief, “Everyone, move the boulder aside on my count! One, two, heave!” Rubbing heavily against the ground, the giant rock crackled and shifted to reveal a path about a full arm’s span wide. The captain and archer were missing their heads. As for the Sun Soldier and Outurnner, they stared up at the blue sky, eyes wide with shock, their own weapons stabbed deep into their chest and gut respectively. The sage’s body fell on top of the Earthshaker’s. Blood pouring from a neck wound going ear to ear soaked the purple fabric. The dark red stain was still increasing in size.

Amongst the bodies, Auria, Anton and Markus waited, casual as a person outside the warzone. The two male Fatebinders wiped their dagger or bastard sword clean with clothe cut from the enemy’s garments, while Auria leaned back watching, arms crossed.

“Despite the terrible reception, welcome to Apex, Earthshakers,” Auria greeted. Her smile was immeasurable on the sliding scale of serious or sarcastic. Anton was equally opaque.

“Yes, like we couldn’t have used any of your help. Thank you so much for all that faith in our combat prowess. I’ll make sure it’ll never get misplaced.”

“Um…you’re, welcome? Regardless, you couldn’t have arrived at a better time, Fatebinders.” Helspar bowed, fist to his chest in a salute, as did the rest of his circle. “I’m the leader of this circle, Helspar. I give my thanks to you for saving our lives. With even just one of us down, I doubted we were going to survive any escape attempts we tried.”

“It’s to be expected for the scouting party, earth mage,” Anton scolded. He reached down to the carcass of the Honor guard and retrieved the throwing dagger embedded in the knee. “Keep a more open eye next time, otherwise pass it to someone else.”

Helspar nodded, embarrassed. “Indeed. I shall keep that in mind.”

“Where’re the rest of you?” Markus asked, realizing the small numbers before them.

“Well, one of us fell to these Oathbreakers. Everyone else survived, despite some injuries. We’ll be more than ready to help after a short rest.” Helspar’s answer had the three Fatebinders looking at one another with concern.

“Are you all that your commander has sent?” Auria asked.

“Well, our circle was all that Master Radix could spare, with Cairn—”

“What?!” The collective disbelief of the three Fatebinders made several Earthshakers jump. The one being supported by another placed his entire weight onto his human crutch, his mind having blanked from the pain of accidentally jerking the injured leg.

Auria and Markus did not register the event of both falling to the ground behind them. Steaming anger clouded their vision. Anton was the only one composed enough to keep speaking.

“Wait, hold on. Not only are you the only ones sent, even your commander isn’t here?”

“Respectfully, sirs and ma’am, I don’t think you understand,” Helspar defended, mouth scowling, “The work of establishing a fort so we may study Cairn in his current state is of utmost important. Master Radix cannot part from such important work, and neither can the other circles. It was only recently that we managed to locate him in the Stone Sea. Plus, the beastmen that had once sworn themselves to him are increasingly irritated by the day.”

“Cairn is alive?” Auria turned to Markus, “Is there anything your friend cannot fail to finish?” Markus bristled with one of his signature glares.

“Not entirely alive,” Helspar corrected, “But not died yet. The Archon may be petrified and immobile, but power yet exists that we can harness and utilize. I could go on with the possibilities! That is, provided we do the research to actually see if any of it is possible.”

“The General’s orders were firm. Ironcore was suppose to provide arcane support for the Disfavored.” Markus groaned, “Kyros, if Tunon hears of this….”

“It can certainly be grounds for treason,” Auria completed the thought.

Helspar stuttered, “I…I’m not in the position to say whether Master Radix is in the right or wrong, but we stand with the General still, I insist. The studies being conducted are for the interests of the Legion. I think our commander simply interpreted the orders to the best of his judgment. Being an Iron Guard, I’m certain they were as sound as any he had made during the campaign.”

“I think any interests this master of yours had pails in comparison to the possibility of the entire Disfavored army in Vendrien’s Well, Ashe included, dying to the Overlord’s Edict.” Auria stated.

It was Helspar’s turn to be shocked. “The entire…what?!” The last syllable clogged in his throat as he fixed into place. His followers traded glances, hesitant. One of the female Earthshakers walked up to Helspar and gave his back a reverberating slap. It jostled him out of the daze, for the moment.

“Oh, I suppose you were not informed. Understand this, my good earth mage. Kyros is quite irritated by the lack of progress with breaking the rebellion apart, so to usher in some results, she decided to set the wonderful deadline that is the Day of Swords for us to work towards. Think of it as the poetically appropriate metaphorical blade being placed on all of our necks. The Vendrien guard is included though, so this is more about working to see if we will survived.”

“I’m…If Master Radix had know, I’m certain he would have…” The rest of Helspar’s words faltered, as the thought of what he had walked into unfolded in his head. Though it was unusually for an Earthshaker to experience such sensations, he was feeling a little lightheaded.

Markus exhaled long and deep, having reached a new stage of uncaring for the increasingly incredulous madness he was surrounded by. “Anyway, let’s get you all reporting in with Ceveus for your next orders. Then you can help see how we might escape certain death.”

“Well, the whole ‘we’re all going to die to this Ddict’ conclusion is not…excuse my choice of words, not set in stone just yet.” Anton jested, “Gather up your things, mages. Time to get a move on. Follow me!” The scarred Fatebinder beckoned with his maimed hand. Markus shook his head with a roll of his eyes, and then waited for half the Earthshakers to move ahead before inserting himself into the procession. Helspar remained frozen in place. Auria walked over and clapped him on the back.

“Put some motion into those legs now, Earthshaker. You do have three Fatebinders on your side, so have only a little fear for your life.” she raised both eyebrows, and pushed Helspar into walking beside her. “Well, four is the more accurate number, but that is not your concern. Speaking of, there is a question I must ask that only an Earthshaker could possibly answer. I expect you to treat this inquiry with professionalism and respect.”

“Um…yes, of course, Fatebinder,” Helspar nodded hurriedly, “What…what question do you have for me? I’ll be happy to answer.” Auria smiled pleasantly. Or rather, as pleasantly as her menacing aura would allow.

She gestured out to the peaks surrounding them. “If say a mountain had a backside, and by backside I mean where one’s anus is, where do you reckon it would be located?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A double update? Impossible!
> 
> In comparison to the last, this chapter was a lot easier to write. Probably because it simply involved colorful swears, insult trading, and Auria and Anton being themselves which annoys Markus and terrorizes everyone else. There's something about them that just makes scenes like softened butter. :P


	10. A Tidecaster's Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eb isn't about to head back just yet, but she needs to tell Arri something...

[Fluid and resolute script penned this letter, currently on its way to Ascension Hall in the hands of a Vendrien guard scout.]

Arri,

If it will assuage your worries and fears and improve the morale of the troops, I will say this: I have succeeded in approaching a Fatebinder, speaking with her at length and walking away with my life. You may stop planning how to steal my mutilated body off a pike now. Or determine which bank along the Matani I will wash up on. Despite Sybil’s continued complaint at the amount of dead bodies bloodying her river, I think the idea of taking a dozen or more of Kyros’ soldiers with me in a glorious flash flood should be considered seriously. I even had a good name for it: The Tidecaster’s Final Gush. It will be up to the brothels of the Tiers to interpret what that means exactly. So long as it involves liquid of some kind being spilled humiliatingly on our enemies, it can be dribbled, squirted or pissed for all I care.

I am not returning just yet, hence this letter to you. If I don’t return, the least you should know is this: Demos and Tyrel are no longer with us. The Fatebinder said Demos’ remains are near the entrance of the Edgering Ruins. I have no doubt Kyros’ soldiers have made a gruesome display out of him. If we’re alive after whatever happens next, we’ll see about giving him a proper send off.

The more pressing matter is the magical energy the sages and I have been feeling more and more of. Florian may have already told you this, if he’s arrived faster than this message. It’s just as I postulated. Seems Kyros finally had enough and decided to send in an Edict. Not only that, three more facts are just as shocking. First, it will kill not just us, but also the Disfavoured and Scarlet Chorus, and countless other innocents who happen to be in this valley. Second, the Peacebinder was the one who has been tasked with declaring it. Third, she, despite having arrived yesterday midday, has YET read it. I don’t know why the Peacebinder told Florian the exact wording of the Edict, but I have a hunch. I just need specific questions answered.

I feel there are too many coincidences happening one after another. Now, if I were the one planning for it to all fall into place, I’ll be extremely smug about how everyone’s moving just how I want them to. But we’re the pieces here, not the ones playing the game. I have no idea if that means we’re being set up to fly or being set up to fall. Maybe even the former before the latter. I wouldn’t put the Peacebinder as purely virtuous simply because of the kindness she had shown thus far. That said, she has saved Florian, and if she does indeed save Travost and Sybil too… Maybe there is a sure way out of this for us once the Edict has been declared.

I’ll return soon, right after I’m done with one last task. Hopefully I shall survive this one too. If I do not, give my regards to the Peloxes and tell them that I went down fighting like Adenos.

-Eb

For your eyes only, Arri. You are young and you have done far more than I have in a lifetime, therefore I must give you what may perhaps be a last bits of advice:

If you are about to jump into something, think for just a second longer, listen for just a minute longer, and look for just a hour.

Sometimes your duties must come before your pride. Same with your life. There is nothing that’s beneath our dignity, despite what everyone says or insists.

If it is possible at all, do not fill yourself with grief and hate. They will only keep you running for so long.

If they leave you walking funny in the morning, marry them.

Know that you are strong, you are worthy, and that you are doing your best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a filler/breather chapter! Sometimes it's needed for us all to catch a breath.
> 
> Eb and Arri, for some reason, always gave me a vibe of a parent and child at times, probably because they happen to be the right age and personalities with one another.


	11. Jewels of the Court

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the first to be written after the Tale of the Tiers update, meaning travel times just...got a bit wonkier. It's okay though! There's just going to be a lot of sleep deprivation involved now for our characters. Like the writer currently is.

Looking up at the sun, eyes squinted and hand over his brow, Anton estimated the time to be about four hours after midday. Escorting the Earthshakers was slowing them down more than he expected. It seemed the mages did not heal at the same rate as the rest of the Disfavored. Or rather, Anton did not anticipate them to be heavily wounded to begin with. The miscalculation irked him. There was a schedule to keep, one where they can be neither late, nor early.

He stopped under a tree, juggling a throwing knife in one hand. The earth mages walking directly behind him paused, concerned. Leaning against the trunk, Anton waved them onwards.

“Go ahead. Need to talk to those two.” He pointed to Markus and Auria. The former was more stern and severe than ever, no doubt resisting the urge to crack a metaphorical whip over everyone’s heads to hasten the pace. The latter had Helspar ensnared in a conversation. The earth mage looked desperate, as if he wished for someone to extract him from the ordeal. His voice shook as he spoke.

“—As I explained, it simply would not be a fruitful endeavour.” 

“Is that your professional opinion on the matter, or is this based upon you belief that the Horde is incapable of avoiding a cave-in, even with luck being accounted for?” Auria scrutinized.

“I… both?” Helspar shrugged. Sweat gathered on his forehead. He was not sure which was more threatening: Auria doubting his expertise, or her displeasure over the fact that digging into the back end of a mountain was, in fact, unfeasible. “No one in the guild would refute my reasoning, that is for certain.”

Auria cocked an eyebrow. “So if I were to bring this inquiry to Radix’s attention, he would give a similarly worded explanation,” she stated, rather than asked.

“That…” Helspar looked away sheepishly. “The commander’s ability and depth of knowledge on the arcane exceeds all of us. If anyone may give a definitive yes or no to your question, it would be him. Though he is incredibly busy at the moment—” The mage instinctively shirked away without Auria even batting an eye “—Though he might have a moment or two to entertain the idea. Maybe.”

To the Earthshaker’s relief, Anton and Markus called Auria over before she could interrogate him further. He quickly jogged away to put some distance between the two of them.

“I am beginning to doubt this retinue’s ability,” Auria said, “Not that I claim to know more about the arcane arts than these mages, but I recognize a novice when I see one. See how they are?” She pointed her chin at the Earthshakers walking a few steps ahead, who had bunched up into a circular formation, their wounded sheltered in the center. Without the Fatebinders amongst them, the cohort walked with caution and unease.

“Definitely more like sages than soldiers to me.” Anton nodded, “A few might have never seen battle.”

Markus sighed, reluctant to agree, though he could see their point. “Their success will depend on what the General intends to use them for then, I guess. Earthshakers were essential for breaking sieges in the past. Hopefully they’ll be just as good even without their Archon.” He turned to Anton. “Anyway, what is it?”

“We’ve got an issue. A time issue.” Anton crossed his arms. “Look, I know you promised to locate these mages for the Disfavoured, but if we escort them all the way back, who knows where Del will be by then.”

“Are you suggesting we split up?” Auria cut to the chase. The same leap of logic drew a strained smile from Anton.

“If you mean we, as in the Fatebinders and the Earthshakers, then yes.” He pointed to their left with a finger. “And we need to do it soon. There’s a path to Tripnettle’s coming up soon, and overshooting just wastes time.”

“We can’t leave the mages unguarded. They have casualties,” Markus protested.

“True, but who, out of the three of us, can go with them?” Anton listed, “You want to find Del, so you’re not it. Auria could go, but Tunon assigned the task to both of you—”

“Even if I wished to be relieved of the matter, I cannot.” Auria said sarcastically.

“—Exactly. I could go, but between me taking you on a sure route to Tripnettle versus the two of you tumbling through its undergrowth, we know which is preferable. So that leaves us with letting the mages go off on their own.”

“I’m not exactly settled on that option.” Markus rubbed the back of his head. “It’s risky.”

“I know,” Anton concurred, “now, one thing I will point out: you are the most senior Fatebinder among us, so you do have a bit more say on what we should do.”

“Technicality dictates that Delphina is the one directing the operation,” Auria corrected, yet before Markus could give her one of his glares, she conceded in the same breathe, “Given her absence, your orders do take precedent. So what you decide will become our orders.”

“Yep,” Anton gave Markus a solid pat on the back. “Sorry for putting this on you, friend, but it’s your call. Anything else would just be questionable.”

Thoughts raced through Markus’ mind. First was of Del, her failing health, and the unpredictable actions she had taken so far. While he had never understood what logic led to her actions, he had always trusted them to come from the right place. Yet with her seemingly going against the Overlord’s will and Tunon’s orders, how was he supposed to help? And was he to help her survive, or help the crisis the valley? The two choices appear to be on divergent paths.

Something else also nagged at him. When he first heard about the rebellion, Markus believed the matter would resolve in less than a span. However, here they were, three spans later, despite both Archons being personally involved. And it was not just the lack of progress that disturbed him. While he could not comment on the Voices, Graven Ashe’s presence here was worrisome. He had heard plenty of rumours that there were many problems still in Stalwart. It did not make strategic sense for the Archon of War to be here.

This whole affair was too complicated to be simply a series of random events. There was a connection, a sequence somewhere. A sense of dread and wrongness lingered and tugged, like the stench of a body emanating from behind a hidden door waiting to be discovered. However, any general suspicion needed to be reserved for later. The choice of whom to sent back with the Earthshakers mattered more in this moment.

“Give me a moment. I need to think this through,” he said, breaking away from the others.

“Think you can give that moment to me for a chat?” A female voice, loud and clear, shouted down from an elevated ridge. Mages and Fatebinders alike turned, entering battle stances. The women, white-haired, skimpily dressed in ropes and blue clothe, gloated where she stood. She had only two guards by her side. “It’s not everyday I get to stare down three Fatebinders and an entire group of earth mages. I would have worn this a lot more often had I known it could hold so many of you at bay.” Eb tapped the light blue cloth tied to her arm.

“Well, shit. A blue flag, on a Tidecaster.” Anton whispered without moving his lips. “Why didn’t they create a red one that means ‘I’ll kill anything that approaches’? That would have helped.”

“Or a green one. I want that one to mean ‘go find the nearest whore and fuck off’.” Auria joked, though not smiling. “Say your piece and make it simple, Tierswoman. Age-old customs may protect your wellbeing, but in speaking for the Oathbreakers, your reputation is far below what we should concern ourselves with. I do not like my time being wasted.”

“Well, I will certainly keep that in mind as I make my inquiries,” Eb crossed her arms, head still held high, smile turning stern. “The Peacebinder couldn’t stay to answer some of my curiosity. I don’t blame her, of course. I can get rather intrusive and she’d better things to do.”

Questions and consensus formed between the Fatebinders’ glances. Has the Tidecaster truly met Delphina, or was she bluffing? If yes, finding out what they spoke of would help, yet it may reveal their own lack of contact. They needed to both deceive and persuade the woman before them. Markus clearly preferred being menacingly silent, and Auria had already played the role of the tough-to-crack one. The part of the reconciler was best off in Anton’s hands.

“Well, our lady Fatebinder certainly didn’t say why she ended your otherwise cordial conversation prematurely. Maybe she wanted you to have a second chance on first impressions.” Anton said. Was the Tidecaster going to fall for the ruse?

Eb’s heart skipped a beat. Had the three, no, four Fatebinders convened already? Things were moving far faster than she expected. Also, she did not recognize the man who just spoke. There were no reports on any more of Tunon’s servants beyond the Peacebinder, Stormcaller (which she believed was the woman), and Firestarter (likely the man glaring at her). So who was this Fatebinder (if that was what he was), and what was his purpose here?

“I assure you, I can be perfectly polite when I need to.” Eb wanted to cut herself off there, but the Fatebinders said nothing in return. The awkward silence pushed her to continue. “That said, at the request of… your friend here, let us not tarry. I have approached you with many questions on my mind, and the sun does not wait to set on us.”

“Now hold on,” Anton held up a finger with a chuckle. “While we— or at least us three here— are fine with answering your questions, fair’s fair. We are under a blue flag after all, and that means we should be negotiating, not just answering questions.”

Eb shuffled on the spot, miffed that this was not going to be easy. “What do you have in mind?” Anton looked over to Markus and Auria. They gave him the silent okay to go with his unspoken idea.

“Since we’re trading words here, not people, I suggest for each question you ask, we get to ask you one in return,” Anton proposed. “How about it? Do we have a deal?”

“Deal.” Eb huffed, stamping her staff as emphasis.

“Let me start with a simple one then,” Auria took the lead, “Why exactly are the rebels rising up against Kyros? The empire has every means to eradicate the issues that has plagued the Tiers for decades, naming infighting and superstitions towards magic as examples.”

“You speak of conflict as if it is a bad thing.” Eb shook her head in dismissal. “Yes, the Younger Realms have battled through the ages, but they were nothing in comparison to the slaughter Kyros brought to our lands. Our customs were strict, and did not include such things as Edicts, survival trials or eradicating beastmen. If this is what your Overlord has to offer, I would rather bend my knee to a Tiersmen than any of the mad Archons in Kyros’ employ.”

“Did the same rashness that provoked frequent conflict between the realms cause the rebels to prematurely decide the conquest to be the Empire’s standard?” Auria critiqued, “Waiting a year or two would have proved that many a Archon offer better terms.”

Eb scowled, “Well, many of us may not have that long, so unless those offers come soon and sincerely presented, I stand with my decision. Besides, I trust my fellow Tiersmen to be brave enough that in the event of an attack, I can be certain that standing behind them will shield me from immediate danger.” The guards nervously stared at one another. Eb rapped one on the shoulder with her staff. “You heard me right! My age has not taken my memories of what ‘hospitality’ meant for us Tidecasters, and neither shall this war. I will be expecting my deserved respect if we get out of this.”

“And with that, we have evidence that your reasoning hardly stands on its own legs,” Auria looked away in distain. “This conversation is going to be tedious.”

“Well like it or not, it’s the best reason you will be getting from me. My turn to ask questions.” Eb smirked. “Now I’ve been told a variety of things, rumours if you will, about Kyros and her servants. While some sound too wild to be true, I can’t help but ponder. So tell me, is it true that Fatebinders can smell falsehood off of parchment?”

“Of course not.” Auria chortled, but then Anton coughed. “What?”

“Well, to be honest…” Anton looked to Markus, who scratched his beard.

“There is one who can do that, at least with blatant lies.” Markus whispered, “Apparently they smell like rancid rations.”

“Hey, I’m the one looking for answers here. If you’ve got secrets, at least do it somewhere where I can’t see you.” Eb shouted down. “So is it true or not? Speak up!”

A kafuffle comprised of yes, no, and maybe was all anyone could make out next.

“I’ll take that as a ‘we’re not sure’, then.” Eb rolled her eyes. “Your turn.”

“Let me have this,” Markus raised his voice, “You seem to hold Delphina in respect. Who is she to you?”

“The Peacebinder? I’d wager there isn’t a single person in Apex who doesn’t hold her in high regard. Personally, I am indebted to her due to her arrangement for my late masters. As for the rest of Vendrien’s Well, she did bring peace to the region, however temporary it was.”

“People don’t break oaths easily to one they respect,” Auria pointed out. “So following up on my previous question, what was the catalyst of the rebellion exactly? Ideologies aside, something happened to make you act.”

“If you want to be that specific, I believe the captains started formally gathering and recruiting the day after a certain rumour reached our ears. Supposedly, someone proposed that a male scion would be inheriting the throne, rather than one of the female heirs.”

“What exactly is the problem with that?” Markus’ brow furrowed.

“It’s not our tradition to allow men to inherit the land, in case you haven’t noticed,” Eb peered at Markus with pity for his lack of cultural awareness. “Ships are one thing, but land? Not until Terratus Grave disappear on the horizon. I suppose the Peacebinder didn’t come up with that idea. She would have understood that having braver sex rule works out better on the long run for everyone involved.”

“Oh that’s just not true!” Markus exclaimed.

Anton gave another cough. “Not to dismiss your claim, my friend, but she’s not entirely wrong.” Seeing Markus’ glare, he shuffled a step back. “Hey, if you’ve hung around the lady furies as much as I have, you’ll know. Many of them are Tierswoman after all.”

“Pardon me, men,” Auria interrupted, “and may my grandmother forgive me for evoking her from the grave, but as she once said to my father, this is not a path you wish to tread upon a second longer, for the women present are armed and willing to stab you.”

“See?” Anton said, assured, “And this is why you should hang out with the Chorus more. Sticking to the Disfavored does a number on your understanding of local culture.”

“I’ll rather trust the Court Blade than those murderous harpies,” Markus cringed.

A gale ripped through the air, knocking both men off balance. They steadied themselves as Auria delivered her warning. “Discourage yourselves from this discussion or I will use your own weapons to end this myself. There is also drowning by the Tidecaster’s hand, if you somehow find that preferable to bleeding out.” Neither man said anymore. Auria looked back up at Eb, tone sincere than ever. “Your next question, please.”

Eb shook off a contained laugh. “Well, my next question…how do I put this the right way… Two of you have read edicts before, is that correct?”

“What a lovely revelation, seeing that our ill reputation travel so rapidly on the lips of our enemies,” Auria quipped before speaking up, “Would it prevent you from asking your actual question if we say no?”

“Good point. Let me skip to it then. Edicts, are they forever, or can they ended in some way?”

“You might want to ask a sage that question rather than us,” Anton answered before anyone else got a word in. “We don’t exactly give that detail out to outsiders.”

“I see. I understand your reservations, but I have to say, I find it puzzling that none of Kyros’ servants seem to want to end the Edicts themselves.” Eb explained, “I mean, with Azure, Vellum Citadel, and Stalwart being the way they are, I can’t imagine it being simple for the troops in the region. It’s not just affecting us, after all. Why not break it for convenience sake?”

While Eb had been talking, Auria whispered to Markus, “Am I wrong in remembering that breaking the Edict has a burden unlike proclaiming one?”

“I don’t remember.” Markus shrugged back. “Rhogalus didn’t say much when he delivered the Edict. I never asked either.”

“That’s…a pretty good question,” Anton said, seemingly addressing both his colleagues and Eb at the same time. “Though what makes you think we aren’t trying to fulfill the Overlord’s Will? I mean, we are here, aren’t we?” A momentary pause, then Anton slapped a hand over his mouth. It was too late, however. Too much had been said.

“I see. So there is a way for Edicts to end. They don’t last forever.” Eb nodded, hand under her chin.

“Well, there’s definitely some that don’t end, I’m certain. The Overlord works in mysterious ways.” Anton said sheepishly as both Markus and Auria stared him down. He hastily asked the next question, shifting the subject away. “So… how’d you overthrow the garrison here?” He jerked his head in the directly of the mountain spire.

Eb chuckled, “Well, I almost want to say that Nerat left the gate open for us and we just walked right in. Which isn’t entirely untrue, though it is an exaggeration.”

“Happen to remember the faces of those who opened the door for you?” Auria said with a huff, “Part of our job is finding those guilty of treason and executing them.”

“I would call them incompetent, rather than treasonous. Your soldiers didn’t open the gates that willingly.” Eb shrugged. “Anyway, if you were looking to kill them yourself, I’m afraid you’re three spans to late. Most of the Disfavored stood their ground and died on the spot. As for the Chorus, well, we saw more of their backside than their faces. I could have someone draw each of those buttocks up if you want.”

“That would not be necessary, thank you,” Auria rejected the offer, still staring at Anton, “As much as we have someone who can utilize that information to its fullest extent, we have more important tasks at hand than to identify Horde members by their behinds.”

“I have no clue what you meant by that,” Anton lied.

“Says the man who’s always kissing their ass,” Markus jeered, “Let’s move on. I don’t even remember who is next.”

“I’ll take it from here, then,” Eb said, “Kyros the Overlord: male or female?”

“Oh for…really?!” Markus threw his hands up. “This is what you stopped us for?”

“The questions does have a simple answer,” Auria noted, “It does not kill one to answer it. I can say it with you, if you need the courage.”

Markus sighed, before declaring the statement with Auria in unison. “‘The Overlord is Mother and Father; the question is irrelevant’.” He rubbed an eye, whispering to Auria. “Can’t believe you were right about this conversation taking a turn for the worst.”

“What kind of an answer was that?” Eb called from above, “I’m quite serious here!”

“So are we. ‘The Overlord is Mother and Father; the question is irrelevant’. The Adjudicator instils this in all his overly-curious pupils.” Anton explained, finally letting go of his mouth, “Of course, it’s basically the same as saying ‘I don’t know fuck, it was a wild night with drinks involved’. Not a bad defense, for any situation.”

“Really? All these years living under Kyros’ rule, and you never wondered if they were an innie or an outtie?” Eb shouted without reservation. Markus chocked, as if he was being strangled. Even Anton’s mind blanked. A collective shudder of the ground reminded everyone that the Earthshakers were still there, witnessing the entire exchange in incredulous silence.

And like last night at the Chorus camp, only Auria retained her faculties, sarcasm included. “I supposed we did wonder at some point, but once I had it on good authority that the Imperial harem was stocked with both men and women, I certainly stopped concerning myself with the question of whether Kyros had an appendage or orifice.” Auria delivered the sentence in one single breathe. “Though by my authority, I can assure you it does not matter. It is not always about the sword and the sheath. Duelling can be just as entertaining, and polishing a scabbard is an art in itself.” A new wave of dismay rippled amongst the observers. Eb, on the other hand, gave off an elated laugh.

“Well, thank you for satisfying my sexual curiosity, Stormcaller. Honestly, I never expected…” The Tidecaster trailed off, trying to hold herself together. Auria had no mercy, however, even for middle-aged women dying of hysterics.

“Someone so uptight to be so loose-lipped? Not the first time someone gave me that compliment.”

Unable to contain herself, Eb broke down into a laughing fit. And she wasn’t the only one. Anton was finding it hard to stand up straight.

“I like you, you know that?” Anton forced out his words to Auria before cracking up and doubling over. Markus’ glare, on the other hand, seemed to have reached a new peak.

“That’s enough. Let’s be done with this nonsense,” he said, shouldering the shield on his back.

Anton coughed and collected himself, “If you say so. So unless our Tidecaster here has any more inquiries…”

“Oh, I’m all out of curiosity, be it intellectual or sexual.” Eb replied with a wet sniff. “Unless you care to talk about your personal life?”

“No.” The menace was palpable in Markus’ word. All those present straightened themselves. Enough was enough, it seemed. Eb nodded, solemn at the sudden shift in tone.

“Very well, I have obviously overstayed my welcome. Let us part in peace—”

“That’s not what I mean by being done, mage.” Markus interrupted.

Eb raised a cautious eyebrow. “You’ll have to explain your intentions, Firestarter. I’d rather not misinterpret your tone to be hostile instead of frustration.”

“If anyone should be explaining here, it would be you, Tidecaster,” Auria chimed in. “You said you detained us because you had questions you wished answered.”

“That I did,” Eb agreed, and alarmed at how quickly the three had recomposed themselves. “And now that we both seem out of questions, it’s time you let us go—”

“Did you really think we wouldn’t notice what you were actually doing?” Anton tutted, “Really, we could have ended this charade the moment you asked your first question, but we’re a patient lot.”

“We did need more answers.” Auria canted her head. “Answers to questions we did not ask, of course, yet you gladly provided. We do give you our thanks for your cooperation.”

Eb clutch tightened on her staff. Cold sweat ran down her back. “What do you mean?”

“Del couldn’t answer your questions during the prisoner exchange, could she? Even if she wanted to help yet another Tidecaster, there were other people present.” Markus deduced. “If there is anything Del never leaves enough of behind, it’s witness statements that actually helps explain what on Terratus she was doing.”

“Intimidating people into silence isn’t her forte at all.” Anton had one of his daggers out, twirling it in one hand. “Partly my fault, really. I never did leave her with room to practice. Anyway, avoidance is her modus operandi, but that’s not going to help with the plan the two of you were hatching together.”

“Plan? That’s ridiculous.” Eb tittered, “All the questions I asked you, I was going to ask her. I hardly see how her answering my trivial curiosities helps concoct a plan.”

“Save for one, all your inquiries were trivial in content, yes, but not in purpose.” Auria said, “What you wanted was not the answers to those questions. Rather, you wanted to see if she will answer truthfully, and whether she would be willing to entertain them at all. You knew the answers to those questions already, so this was not a request for knowledge, but a test of corroboration. You needed to know if you can trust her, and if she trusts you.”

“The original point of the questions: If she answers truthfully and openly, she passes. Plans can come later.” Anton summed up, “Unfortunately that didn’t happen, because fortunately, someone else did the planning already. Once you had your meeting with the Peacebinder, you realized that all you needed to do now was play the part she intended for you. One you probably had in mind, and she only needed to affirm.”

“And that is why you came to find us,” Mark snared, “because we need to be delayed.”

“That’s impossible,” Eb denied, eyes wide, “I came to ask questions because I wanted answers. I play no part in this conspiracy theory you have. There isn’t a single shred of evidence that suggests that I’m doing favour for the Peacebinder or the other way round.”

“No evidence? Oh how you jest,” Auria smiled. “Allow me to demonstrate. You asked about whether Edicts lasted forever, did you not?”

“I honestly didn’t want to give you a straight answer,” Anton sighed. “You really pushed for it though, so I had to let it slip.”

“So what if I did?” Eb huffed, “Edicts are the Overlord’s greatest weapons. Is it so strange that a mage like me is curious about their nature?”

“You seem rather sure that an Edict is about to be involved soon,” Markus observed.

“Well, as if the three spans of fighting, both Archons showing up, and the valley sealing itself in isn’t enough to get my attention? No one leaves a ditch unplugged when they plan to drown a rat.” Eb said, bitter, biting. “With all the Edicts that has torn the Younger Realms to pieces, I think my paranoia’s justified.”

“Yes, suppose your knowledge clued you in on the possibility of an incoming Edict. If so, Tidecaster,” Auria’s eyes centered on Eb, cold, exact, “Why have you asked us whether Edicts end, but not the specific wording of the Edict that is to be declared upon this valley?”

Eb froze in place. “How…how did you...” She was at a loss of words. Though she had the higher ground, the three Fatebinders before her seemed to loom over her, dissecting her every action and motive with nothing but their eyes.

“The first to begin questioning determines the conditions of the battlefield,” Auria stated, “Asking for us to confirm nothing but gossip after I had baited you into a heated declaration of your cultural identity speaks volumes of where your priorities lie. All that was left to navigate the fish through the maze was placing the right bait in the right places.”

“The flair of theatrics, the right choice of words, and a good dose of rapport,” Anton brandished his arms outward, dagger still in hand, “You may know that the ‘Peacebinder’ didn’t receive her titles for just looking pretty and speaking sweat, Eb of the Tidecasters, but if you think she’s the only jewel in the Court of Fatebinders, you have not seen all we’ve to offer yet. We don’t serve the Overlord’s Eldest without reason.”

“Enough with the bravado, you two,” Markus cut Anton off. “I’ll give you this one chance, Tidecaster. Your life isn’t what I seek today, but if you don’t give me the answers I’m looking for, I am more than willing to hand you over to Archon of Secrets and extract the necessary information that way. So tell me, what exactly has Delphina told you, and where is she—”

Flames burst from the blue clothe of Eb’s arm. The soldiers next to her gave a startle yep, before brandishing their falx. “Traitors!” One of them shouted. “To think you would attack under the blue flag!”

“Who did that?!” Markus yelled, turning back. Auria jumped to her own defence first.

“I am the last person you look to for all matters arcane!” She asserted, “Ask yourself if YOU losing your temper there was what caused a spark.”

“Just because people give me that title doesn’t mean I can set things on fire!” Markus rebuked. Both then turned to Anton.

“All I did was STAND, on the spot, HERE.” Anton gestured to his feet with both hands. Before all three could look in their direction, the Earthshakers deflected all blame.

“We’re EARTHshakers, not Bloodchanters!” Helspar declared above the fray.

“Cankerous twats!” With a flourish of her staff, Eb extinguished the fire. Her arm stung, but it was nothing a potion cannot solve. “My apologies, but I must retreat,” she said to the guards, fingers already signing.

“We’ll delay them, Tidecaster,” the other guard said, “Give the captain our farewells.”

“Of course, and thank you.” With another wave of the staff, Eb produced a torrent of fog that burst forth, obscuring the view of everyone present. By the time a wind came in and scattered the mist, the Tidecaster was nowhere to be seen. The two Vendrien Guards raised their weapons and attacked, both going for Markus. All it took, however, were two well-aimed boulders and one dagger to end their charge. The two crashed and screeched to a stop before Markus’ feet. The Fatebinder did not even have his shield forward.

All went eerily silent, even the forest around them. Not a single bird sang, nor insect chirped, nor a branch swayed, nor blades of grass rustled. Standing over the corpses, chest still heaving in anger, Markus made his decision.

“Three of us,” he declared, “All three of us, Tripnettle, NOW.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter was originally meant for incorporating the questions that Eb did not get to ask when she met Delphina, but boy, did Anton, Auria and Markus surprised me in how much they information they can pull from a person with a bit of teamwork, not to mention covertly sharing information between one another without anyone else noticing they were doing so.


	12. Tripnettle Wilderness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trio of Fatebinders makes it to Tripnettle.

Everyone on Terratus has heard of a specific advice (that bordered on common sense) at least once in their lifetime: While travelling, do so with care. Keep your eyes and ears open, for you never know what may strike at your next and where it will come from. This was especially true during the conquest of the Tiers. With heinous crimes occurring so frequently, being shaken down on the road was almost considered polite. While civilians and merchants tried to keep their heads down, armies of the younger realms and the Empire looked for opportunities to ambush one another in the name of strategy, necessity, or greed. Thus, discretion became an essential tool of survival both on and off the road.

At this point in the journey, however, those wise words had been skewered six ways, reduced to ash, and thrown to the wind, by three Fatebinders no less. Markus, Anton, and Auria’s quarrel rose above their trampling and thrashing through the woods. Despite the lack of caution, one could argue that they were doing the people a service by informing them that there were more merciful ways to die in this war. Crossing paths with three incensed Fatebinders was not known to end in pleasantries, especially when they left a trail of floral carnage in their wake.

“May I remind you gentlemen—” Auria growled through clenched teeth as she cracked an obstructing branch in half “—that we were under a blue flag. Of all situations we could have been under, violence broke out under the very circumstance that forbade it!”

“Yes, the fucking blue flag!” Anton jumped clear of a fallen tree trunk in one leap. “Strange how the one item that spontaneously combusted had to be the one that was holding us back! Wonder who got so pissed that they lost control of themselves.”

Markus cleaved the afore-mentioned tree trunk in half with an upward swing. The two pieces flipped and landed with a reverberating thud. “All I did was glare,” he stated as he sheathed his weapon.

“Indeed you did. We all did. We do that a lot, in fact, but I’ve never set anything on fire while I did it.” Anton snorted before pushing through a picket of shrubs to a small uneven clearing.

“Who on Terratus was it then? A spell was ‘thrown’. Spells don’t just appear.” Markus followed Anton, and found himself trapped in the thicket. Clearly, the smaller-statured Fatebinder had stopped giving a damn about finding paths that would be easier for his companions to travel by.

“Exactly! It wasn’t like we had a flock of jumpy earth mages with us that were as skittish as virgins during their first rump.” Anton waited impatiently for Markus to free himself, and for Auria to crawl into view from a completely different direction.

“Leave the Earthshakers out of this, Anton,” Markus warned with a pointing finger.

“Seriously? You’re turning more blind eyes than I have on them?” Anton threw up an arm and walked away, ready to dive back into the bush. Auria was equally fed up.

“Rather quick of you to dismiss our most likely suspect, Firestarter,” she criticized.

“And rather quick of you to suspect someone other than yourself, Auria,” Markus said without look at her. “Like you have any proof that you’re truly the innocent one here.”

The words were like a dare for Auria. “Is that all you need as a Fatebinder? Allow me, then.” She grabbed Markus by a shoulder. The Firestarter slapped her hand away and drew his sword.

Hearing the scuffle behind him, Anton swept around, ready to draw his daggers. He turned just in time to see Auria yank one of her gloves off. She walked up to Markus, leaving barely a fist worth of space between her tattooed face and his.

“Do you see this?” She held the hand up. Long and thin, her hands were more delicate than expected, without calluses that suggested a lifetime of heavy labour or fighting. However, each finger twitched like limbs of a dying arachnid, though her hand was clearly relaxed. Both men answered her with silence. Wood and grass around the clearing began to crackle, smoking then burning. Whipping winds, as if capable of seeking out a target, coursed through the forest to where they were. Thin lines of ember crawled outward, radiating from the small clearing, eating away verdant leaves and leaving behind blackened branches. “I was sixteen years when chance decided that I was to hold a spear in my hand rather than a quill for the rest of my life. My family’s blood ink granted the one boon that our warriors had sought after for centuries, yet what we could not have known was that this, THIS was the cost I had to pay.

“Had I gone on to live my life as planned, the sacrifice would have been well worth it, except that did not happen. I do not know if you had your worth judged before being inducted into the Court, but when I pledged myself to the Adjudicator’s service I was weighed by the hair. Each flaw they saw struck off one skill set I had.”  
Markus lowered his weapon, though he remained where he stood, even with Auria spitting on his face as she ranted. Anton, on the other hand, slowly drew a pair of daggers from his bandolier, holding them loosely. He regarded the two before him with weariness, face glowering, waiting.

Auria continued, “Had this not been an issue, I would be worth so much more than what they end up appraising. So if there exists some method that shall allow the likes of these hands to sign a sigil, please do inform me expeditiously, for I would love to stitch my own flesh together with something other than a needle and thread.”  
All was quiet again. The fire and wind died down, leaving only the taste of smoke and ash. As they stood motionless, the Fatebinders could hear the rush of their own blood and thump of their pulse, still carrying the heat of ire, frustration and resentment. It took a while for the red haze to fade for their senses and the surrounding to return.

Anton was the first to notice something new. “You two hear that?” He asked the others, raising a finger. Auria and Markus concentrated. From the distance, muffled by trees, came yells, roars, and metal clashing against metal.

“A battle.” Markus took off, shouldering through branches and leaves. The others followed. Anton dug for throwing knife, and Auria pulled her glove back on. Once they broke clear of the thicket onto a overgrown path, the direction of the crash of battle became apparent.

At the junction of a clearing and a path, gang member clad in tattered leathers and red paint clashed with bronze-armoured Vendrien guards. Several Chorusmen lay dead on the floor, as did a couple of Vendrien guards. Of the survivors, seven rebels outmatched five hordesmen in both skill, force, and equipment. One of the men of the horde, face painted and arm tattooed, teeth dyed black, shouted orders from amongst the fray.

“Get out! We haven’t the numbers to deal with this patrol!” In his haste, the gang leader tripped and fell backwards. Fear seized him, and though kicked as he might, he could not pick himself up. Beyond his own feet, he saw a falxwoman sprint up, weapon raised. “Fuck m—!”

A blur swift as wind rushed in and kicked the falxwoman in the face. The Vendrien soldier stumbled back, stunned. Still in motion, her attacker seized her sword arm by the wrist, hooked her by the elbow, and forced the joint inward. Bone, cartilage and muscle cracked and tore. The falxwoman scream ripped air and curdled blood. She dropped her weapon. A glint of reflected sunlight later, the falx was set against its owner’s neck. It sliced, clean and quick. The screams turned to gasps for air. Satisfied, the attacker shoved the bleeding soldier aside, letting her fall before the Chorusman’s feet. Both the gang leader and Vendrien Soldier stared at one another, eyes wide in disbelief, until the falxwoman’s twitched one final time, then stilled.

Mind blank, the gang leader only caught a glimpse of his rescuer’s black, green and yellow silhouette before noticing an Outrunner coming right for him. He could scramble to defend himself. Before he even touched the handle of his dagger, Anton struck from out of sight, sinking a pair of daggers between the soldier’s ribs. There was not even a groan when Anton retracted his weapons, letting the Outrunner’s body slid to the ground.

“Boss!” the gang leader called out, recognizing Anton, “Who’s— I…”

“On your feet, Fake Limp.” Anton extended a hand and pulled the Chorusman upright. “Some skirmish you got yourself into here. Couldn’t wait for back up?”

“That’s not it, boss” Fake Limp tried to explain, “We were the backup until—” Anton lunged, pushing Fake Limp out of the way. A zipping sound, like that of a projectile, stopped as suddenly as it appeared. Before Fake Limp could comprehend what he heard, Anton hurled the javelin he had caught back at the attacker. It pierced the shocked Sun Soldier through the jaw.

“Talk later,” Anton reached down and picked up a dagger he dropped. “Though looks like the battle’s pretty much done. Should have told them to save some,” he chuckled, wide grin on his face, before running forth to join the fray.

Markus charged a trio of Vendrien soldiers on the other side of the clearing with a roar the moment he had a clear view of the entire skirmish grounds, leaving a gash on the arm or leg of any enemies that happened to be in his path. The targets raised their weapon in defense as he cleaved across their torso. Iron and bronze clashed as falxes and sword locked. Both side’s arms trembled under the strain.

“Hang on!” The Vendrien Guard in the middle commanded those that flanked him. Worry had crawled up their faces. “Give way, and we’re all done for!”

“If so, save your breath,” Markus threatened, and pushed. The Vendrien soldiers’ gritted their teeth and dug their feet down. Their heels grinded against the ground, uprooting grass and dirt as they were forced back.

Auria, still as quick as when she intercepted the falxwomen, dodged past an outrunner’s stab and falxman’s slash. Seeing the deadlock between Markus and the trio of soldiers, she smirked and sprinted towards them. The Vendrien guard in the middle opened his mouth to warn the others. Before he could utter a word, Auria slid under the locked blades, situating herself between the two sides, borrowed javelin ready at hand.

“Two behind me.” She informed Markus, who wordlessly understood her intent. He shoved the three away, using the momentum to jump back. Faster than the eye could follow, Auria swung the javelin in one sweeping arc.

The pole smashed into the neck of the Vendrien guard on the right with a snap. The soldier on the opposite side cursed.

“You peon—!”

Flesh parted to metal, and the soldier gagged, blood filling her throat. The sharp tip of the javelin had pierced her jugular. With a twist and pull, Auria retracted the spearhead with ease, leaving a spurting wound and a slowly suffocating soldier collapsed on her knees.

The last standing soldier understood in an instant what happened. The Fatebinder had followed the rebound of the weapon in a full circle, and then directed it at the soldier on the opposite side. Now the javelin once again sought for a target like a trained snake striking a selected prey. His warrior’s instincts kicked in. Shifting his falx, he parried a blow from his face. His brow instantly stung as if bitten by nettles. The spearhead had still managed to cut him, but it was still better than the fatal alternative. The Fatebinder before him smiled, amused. A rapid succession of strikes followed, some of which he countered, and others leaving tiny lash marks on exposed skin and bruising behind armour. As the soldier debated whether he could break the advantage in reach the Fatebinder had, blood slid from his brow into one eye.

The blink was all it took. Auria threw herself forward and embedded the javelin into the soldier flank.

“Captain!” The falxman still engaged in battle with Markus called out. Markus took the distraction and ran his blade through the Vendrien guard’s heart. Seeing this Fatebinder leave his side open, another outrunner ran in for an attack. Three rapid stabs in the back halted the dash. The outrunner hobbled and turned to face her attacker, stance unsteady as knees weakened and breathing became laboured. Anton flicked the blood off his daggers as he regarded his enemy.

“Well? Come on,” he taunted, holding up his blades before him, before ducking down and knocking his enemy off his feet with a swipe of his leg. Together with Markus, the two stabbed the prone outrunner in the torso.

With that last Vendrien guard dead, the Scarlet Chorus gang collected themselves, sharing murmurs. One spat a glob of phlegm unto one of the bodies, before ripping off the dead soldier’s boots and trying them on. Others pulled out small bags of rings, or began to stripe the bodies of their armour, likely to see if they could be sold as scrap. As they pillaged, the horde members gave the Fatebinders glances and nods with equal parts of admiration, gratitude and fear mixed in their eyes.  
Fake Limp looked about at the butchered soldiers, mouth agape in awe, as he sheepishly approached the Fatebinders. “That was… well, I thought we were done for there.”

“You are most welcome.” Auria smiled with questionable sincerity. “That is, if our assumption of your desires to live are correct. If we assumed wrongly, that may be remedied.”

“No! I… I’m sorry, Fatebinders. The shock got to my tongue. We’re indebted. To you. Going to be, for a while. I think. I humbly thank you three for saving us.” Fake Limp gave several rigid half-nods, shifting on the spot, uncertain whom to bow to first. “Though I reckon you weren’t sent to save us, boss?” The gang leader asked Anton.

“No, we were not,” Anton replied, wiping his daggers clean on a Vendrein guard’s cowl. “So rather than making atrocious attempts to thank us, why don’t you tell us what you were doing here, Limpy? Or am I going to have to rename you Slack Jaw?”

Markus rolled his eyes at the banter, putting his weapon away habitually as he took in the surroundings. Loosely grouped bags on one side of the perimeter of the skirmish grounds caught his eye. Camping supplies such as pots and pans, rations, bedding and animal skins lay in disarray. The scattered items suggested they were packed in a hurry, and also dropped as quickly. The suggested haste with the Vendrien Guard reacted to the ambush had him furrowing his brow.

A soft groan sounded from amongst the dead. The Vendrien Guard beside Auria, the one she had stabbed in the side, stirred. He writhed in pain, one hand over the javelin wound, attempting to use the other to push himself upright.

“What have we here?” Anton asked in dull surprise. “A survivor. Any reason you didn’t kill this particular man, Stormcaller?”

“As if you need me to answer that question.” Auria knelt down and pulled the helmet off the soldier with unexpected gentleness. “It has been a while since someone has deflected one of my strikes, let alone several. And did my ears betray me, or did your soldier call you by rank, dear Captain?” She brushed the man’s hair, matted with blood, out of his face.

“Damn right he’s a ‘Captain’!” Fake Limp pointed at the wounded man accusingly with his dagger. “Fatebinder, it’s all because of this Oathbreaker right here that we were in that mess. Thanks to him, I can count my gang on one hand now.”

“Slow down, Limpy.” Anton soothed, “What happened exactly?”

“Thought this guy was Pelox Florian was what happened, boss!” Fake Limp said, “My crew and I were heading in as back up when this group of Vendrien Guards came pouring out. Don’t know how they managed to get past the likes of sister Verse, but I certainly wasn’t going to let him get away. Only found out that we’ve been played for during the fight.”

“So who is this, if he isn’t the one you’re looking for?” Anton asked.

“Like fuck would I know,” Fake Limp shrugged, scowling, “All I know is I’ll love to slit the fucker’s throat, among some others.”

“I would suggest we hold off on that. The man himself could tell us more, with some persuasion,” Auria suggested. She lowered her voice to address the Oathbreaker.

“Or we could bypass that formality, if you are willing to divulge all that you know, dear Captain.” The soldier spat a glob of bloody spit in her direction, and Auria shifted minimally to dodge it.

“Go get your answers from the Voice’s crack, peons!” He winced following the small outburst. Auria stare back at the cursing man was impassive and bored.

“I did always prefer my prisoners terrified and silent.” She said aside to Anton. “The mouthy ones have the most unattractive attitudes.”

“He can still speak,” Markus stated, “That’s good enough for me.” Striding up, the large Fatebinder grabbed the wounded Oathbreaker, and pinned the man to a tree trunk by the neck. “Where’s the Peacebinder?”

The pinned man spoke through clenched teeth. “Like I would know—“A solid punch to his stomach punctuated his reply. He curled forward in pain.

Markus forced the man back up from his staggering. “I know you’ve seen her! Where is she?” He shouted to the man’s face. The Oathbreaker gave off a pained chuckle, one hand clutching his bleeding side, the other hanging weakly by his side.

“You sound awfully worried. What’s the hurry?” Before anyone else spoke a word, Anton stepped up, and took the man’s limp hand in his own.

“This your dominant hand?” he asked, holding it up to the Oathbreaker’s face.

“Why would you care—” A loud crack and the subsequent scream stopped the Oathbreaker from speaking further. The little finger of the man’s hand was now bent in an unnatural angle. Anton’s tight grip on the man’s wrist kept him from pulling away.

“I’ve a morbid curiosity. And I hope with that little warning, you’ve realized that we are the ones asking questions here, not you,” Anton warned. “So let’s start somewhere simple. This Chorusman here says Pelox Florian wasn’t among you. Where has he gone?”

“Swinefuckers!” The Oathbreaker swore between shudders, voice guttural “Torture me all you like, my brother will be safe from the likes of you!”

“Brother now, is it?” Anton laughed, “Can’t say I know the Pelox lineage like I know how many fingers I’m missing. Think there was a Ta-someone…Or maybe a Tra-someone.”

“Actually, we might already know.” Markus stood back a little, scrutinizing the Oathbreaker captain. “Two years back, a group of Vendrien Guard captains were released as a gesture of goodwill. There was definitely a Pelox in there.”

“A name that’s been mentioned once or twice by a friend?” Auria postulated with emphasis on the last word, interrupting Markus’ next sentence. She did not turn her head to meet the Firestarter’s silent glare as she kept her eye on the Oathbreaker.

“More than trice actually,” Anton said, biting his lips. “Almost too much by candlehead’s standards. I was certain threats, if not murder, was emanate.”

“What are you going on about?” Markus turned to Anton, irked.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Anton shrugged, all the while giving Auria a look full of implications. The stare she returned was as hollow as a dead tree.

“Deviation from the business at hand aside, the sibling connection explains how they were able to disguise one man so convincingly for the other.” She took up the interrogation. “What prompted you to do so, Captain? Or is this armour swap a familial bonding ritual we have yet to document?”

“With the amount of illiterate fools you coerce into your ranks, of course you’ll know nothing.” The Captain insulted, “Like this bunch. They couldn’t even be subtle about where they were.”

“Go eat shit, why don’t you?! We froze our ass going without a campfire last night, while you had a giant one!” Fake Limp defended, and pointed up to the nearby mountains. “That’s how one of my young blood spotted you from way up there. Boss, you knew the kid. She has… HAD some of the best eyes out of the horde. There was no way that these Oathbreakers could have noticed where we were.”

“I’m aware.” Anton said. Slowly and forcefully, he bent the Oathbreaker’s ring finger back like he was snapping a twig. Despite all his desire for vengeance, the ensuing howling sent chills up Fake Limp’s back. What few surviving horde members flinched too and shuffled back.

Anton waited until the screams stop to speak. “Listen, Oathbreaker. No one likes a liar, especially not us Fatebinders, so do us a favour and start answering questions, or it’ll be more than just your hand I’ll mangle. And we know you have the answers we want, for example, say, the details of your meeting with the our court’s representative.” Cold sweat dripped from the Captain’s face like tears. He shot a look of hatred towards Anton at the mention of the Peacebinder, a gesture dashed out quickly by a violent shove from Markus.

“Well?!” The Firestarter voice had the impact of a punch. “What happened? Where is she now?”

The Oathbreaker gasped out his answer, “Last I saw the Peacebinder was when she came to our camp this morning, accompanied by her escorts, looking for Florian. We conversed briefly. Once she understood he wasn’t around, she allowed us to leave. We took that offer and left.”

“She released you all? Without a single question asked?” Auria doubted. “Is the pain interfering with your recall or do you truly think us daft enough to believe such a simplified retelling of the events, Captain?”

The Oathbreaker hesitated. Feeling a third finger being pulled, he quickly elaborated. “The Fury that was with her! She was eager to slaughter us if we didn’t talk, or maybe simply for sport. The Peacebinder would have none of it though and ordered her to stand down.”

“I not even certain whether to consider that negligence or incompetence at this point.” Auria turned, incredulous, to Markus, “Do you truly intend to overlook this as well?”

“Some things are obvious without questioning being involved,” Markus replied, “Delphina’s especially good at that.” Auria turned her attention to Anton, asking for confirmation. The man gave a half-hearted grimace.

“Well, if you look at all things objectively,” Anton hesitated, “any action taken by anyone can be questionable.”

“If a series of consecutive actions come across as suspicious, that is beyond questionable,” Auria asserted. “A peaceful approach when she first entered the camp is excusable. The lack of an interrogation after the revelation is more than disturbing.”

“Disturbing for you, because you’ve never seen her work, and know what she is capable of,” Markus dismissed. ”Delphina avoids violence on principle. This is just like her.”

“Not like she’s incapable of it,” Anton held up the Captain’s mangled hand as if to suggest the possibility, “but she does prefer silence over screams. At least, that was the impression I got back in Bastard City.”

“Do the both of you sincerely not question how calmly she took a target’s absence?” Auria pointed to the Oathbreaker. “This man’s face here says it all. She accepted the unexpected in stride.”

“And how would you say that’s suspicious coming from her?” Markus furrowed his brow, getting defensive. “You’ve never met as far as I know.”

“No, but when there is an abundance of unsurprised faces at an event, I start questioning whether premeditation is at play,” Auria suggested, taking a step towards Markus. Seeing the situation intensify, Anton stammered in an opinion.

“Hold on. You know… there could be other reasons to stay calm,” he suggested, scratching under one eye with his free hand, the other still gripped the tortured limb tight as an eagle’s talons. “A small retinue versus an entire camp’s not exactly favourable fighting conditions, even with the best of the Disfavored and Chorus at her side.”

“The best of both armies, of whom one openly objected and likely thought the Oathbreakers did not have an advantage,” Auria countered, her wrath now directed at both Markus and Anton. The latter pulled a ‘well-what-can-you-do’ face in response to her rebuttle.

“Hey, this Oathbreaker said it himself that’s what happened. Take your pick.”

A soft laugh stopped the bickering. It came from the Oathbreaker captain. “I see now why we don’t see many Fatebinders out on the field. You snap at one another like dogs in heat—” Anton wretched the Captain’s middle finger back and held it, prolonging the pain. The agonizing shouts only stopped when Markus tightened his grip on the Oathbreaker’s throat until he choked, even letting go of his wound to swat ineffectively against the Firestarter’s arm.

“And you mother obviously never taught you not to anger agitated bitches,” Anton whispered, as Markus relaxed his clutch to let the man wheeze. “Consider yourself lucky that we need your tongue on you still.”

“And I suggest you start using it.” Auria jabbed her thumb into the wound she made.

It was worse than the initial stab. The Oathbreaker gritted his teeth against the radiating pain and strange wriggling sensation. Thought he desperately wished it, the torture was not enough for the Stormcaller’s words to be incomprehensive, nor make him faint. All it did was chip away at his will like corpses being pecked at by crows. Each twitch or twist of the thumb sent a guttural cry or gag through him.

Seeing that he was still conscious, Auria beamed, “Good. You still have the backbone befitting of a captain. A normal foot soldier would have expired or broke long ago. As much as I admire that tenacious bloodline of yours, however, even a scion of a martial noble house has their breaking point. And I am not in a hurry to move on until the answers I look for are given.”

Auria looked to the other two Fatebinders, It was a gesture made either to seek permission after the fact, or a warning not to interfere. In response, Anton released the man’s hand and stepped back. Markus, for the first time in a while, showed a hint of disapproval and reluctance through his anger. He kept his hand on the Oathbreaker’s neck, regardless.

Seeing no objections, Auria continued, “I must commend you, Captain, for the foolish bravery you have shown. No doubt you were equally as steady when the Peacebinder approached your camp. I would have attributed it to your level-headedness, had it not been for one glaring mistake.” With her free hand, Auria lifted the Oathbreaker’s face up by the chin, so they were eye to eye. His had a mixed of defiance, confusion, and fear, while hers looked back with a determination that bordered on madness, a will ready to permeate another’s mind. “Your brother being missing could have been mere coincidence, or simply a failure on account of poor intelligence. Yet not only was he missing, YOU were disguised as him. Not only did you know there were spies, but you also know what their objective was, and had enough details and time to execute a delaying tactic. That sort of game does not play itself unless someone with extensive information into the operations going on in this valley explicitly started it. So by the blood in your veins and the pride that it carries, stop being someone else’s pawn and start talking, or I will do more than show you why the Unbroken of Stalwart soil themselves at even an utterance of my name—”

“Down!” Anton jumped forward and body-slammed the other two Fatebinders. Both Markus and Auria fell backwards, with Anton’s arm across their torso, keeping them from standing. Amidst their panic and shouts, the horde survivors ducked into the bushes for cover. Hairs stood on ends and skin tingled. Blue-white light flashed across the air. A bolt of lightning struck the Oathbreaker captain square in the chest. The lightning arched and hit two nearby trees, and sparks fell upon the Fatebinders like a sudden shower of rain.

All that was became silenced for a moment after the crack of the initial shockwave, before the buzzing of static slowly faded in. The smell of singed wood and a tang that bounced off the teeth permeated the air. Markus blinked, staring up at the sky with uncertainty. Auria, on the other hand, propped herself up by the elbow, to stare in disappointment and brewing resentment, at the unmoving body of the Vendrien Guard captain, who had fallen forward with his arms crumpled under him.

“That… was incredibly rude,” Anton shot up from his crouching position. “We were working on something there. Couldn’t you have waited until after we were done before you made your grand entrance and demanded for everyone’s attention?”

Twenty paces away, a female figure stood, clad in standard mage Fatebinder armour with purple trim, veiled and hooded, lightning staff raised. Flanked by a massive figure of coiled metal, a Scarlet Fury, and a lanky wizened sage, she seemed even smaller than she already was. Despite her size, a formidable impression remained. Ignoring Anton’s question, she walked forward, past the three Fatebinders, and knelt down beside the body of the captain. With a bit of effort, she pulled the man’s right arm out. A short bronze blade tumbled from the captain’s hand.

“He had a knife,” Delphina said, dulcet voice a contrast to Anton’s anger-fuelled tone, “I didn’t know whom he intended to stab, and I wasn’t going to wait and find out.”

“Del!” Markus got to his feet in an instant, nearly knocking Auria over again as she was standing up. “Finally! We’ve been trying to find you for ages.”

“Markus,” Delphina’s stare softened at the sight of a close friend. Her veil obscured all other emotional nuances there may have been. “It’s been a long time,” she said, looking up at him.

“Yeah, it has.” Markus rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, “We’re here to help now, if you’ll have us.”

“I…” Delphina drew a breathe in “…When the Adjudicator said he shall be sending others to assist me, I didn’t expect him to call upon you two, and the Stormcaller.” She bowed her head lightly. Auria nodded the silent salutation back to Delphina. A fleeting familiarity crossed both their minds. Light as Delphina’s grey eyes were to Auria’s dark brown and green, there were similarities in their facial structures. As Markus said, there were not a lot of Fatebinders from that region of the Terratus in active duty.

Back in the conversation, Anton pointed out something to Delphina, “Just Markus and Auria, actually. As Kyros willed it, I got sealed in while on errands. The details… well, we can share them later.”

“Of course. There’s… a lot to discuss. First things first however.” Seeing the horde members emerged from their hiding places, Delphina called out to Fake Limp. “Chorusman! Florian was not in the camp like you claimed. What happened?”

“What happened?! I thought you of all people are suppose come up with the answers to such questions, lady Fatebinder!” Fake Limp shouted back, “Instead, you let this imposter here go. Piss, you even fried him before the boss and the others were about to get an answer out of him, you traitor!” Several eyebrows raised in response to Fake Limp’s audacious choice of words. Auria crossed her arms, curious, while Anton rolled his eyes, face covered with one hand. Markus situated himself before his friend, staring down the gang leader.

Delphina dipped her head a little, gaze trained on her accuser like an iron head of a notched arrow. “I would watch your tone, Fake Limp.” she warned, “We Fatebinder do not take such allegations lightly.”

“And I’ll watch the tone of your face when I report this to Fifth Eye! I lost good men and women to these piles of shits here, on top of the Captain!” Spittle sprayed from Fake Limp’s mouth as he bared his stained and rotten teeth. He strode towards Delphina, weapon ready in hand. “In fact, why don’t you and I take the walk back to camp right now—”

“Wow there, Limpy!” Anton grabbed hold of Fake Limp, and pulled the enraged gang leader away. “You need to calm down.”

“But boss!” Fake Limp protested as he stumbled back, “She LET these Oathbinders go! The other lady Fatebinder said it herself!”

“I never suggested, however, that the Chorus should take her into custody,” Auria said, “So on top of tone, I suggest you watch whom you involve in your petty squabbles.”

Anton could not roll his seeing eye any harder at Fake Limp’s blunder. “Now you’ve angered one more. Just wonderful,” he muttered. “Really, Limpy, it’s like you live to piss people off.”

“Screw other people! You know this will be reported, Boss,” Fake Limp warned, “Tunon the Adjudicator himself will hear of this. It won’t end well for you, and that’ll—”

“I know. It’ll be fine. We Fatebinders take care of our own,” Anton assured, which bolstered Fake Limp to stare defiantly in Delphina’s direction. “Anyway, you can’t go around threatening us like that. There’re consequences for that kind of behaviour.”

“What consequences?” Fake Limp asked, not really paying attention.

“This.” Anton shoved the gang leader away, lightly kicking one of Fake Limp’s foot from under him. Slipped like he stepped on a pebble, Fake Limp stumbled back, arms waving wildly. In the confusion, Anton grabbed the man’s fist, the armed one. In one fluid motion, Anton drove the dagger into the gang leader’s throat.

“What are you—” Markus stuttered, anger boiling in his mind. Fake Limp gave one last gurgle before dropping to his knees and falling over. The others present were likewise stunned silent, most in horror, a couple merely surprised.

Anton wiped off the blood with a rag he ripped from the dead gang leader’s clothing. “He gave poor intel, couldn’t protect his own gang, and attempted to assault a Fatebinder. The man would’ve been due for death the moment he stepped into camp, if not on the spot here should a fight break out. I just sped it up, and made it mercifully quick. You’re welcome for all the fighting I just prevented.” The last words were directed at Delphina and her entourage, the former of which had relaxed her stance. She gave a sigh of relief, one that Auria heard as a ‘thank you’ to Anton rather than simply an adjustment of breath.

“Pity. I was hoping I could have some fun killing him.” The Scarlet Fury said, putting her hands on her hips. “I even had permission.”

“I did not say you can kill him, Verse,” Delphina corrected, voice a little hoarse, “I only asked if he was a problem you wanted to take care of now, because we might not have a later.”

“Problem? Yeah, I had a problem with him alright.” Verse snared, “Other than all the shit he just did, I can think of a dozen other reasons he deserved biting it.”

“Him deserving it aside, we should have been the ones that took care of him, Fatebinder” The man inside the metal suit crossed his arms and huffed, addressing Anton, “It’s our job to protect Fatebinder Delphina. You didn’t need to do that.”

“Barik?!” For once, Auria’s words had a clear set of associated emotions. She peered closer at the armoured hulk, but immediately kept her distance once she smelled the odour emanating from him. “Discharge from a— you should be dead!”

“Exactly, Harbinger.” Verse agreed, “Even I’m tempted to put him out of his misery.”

“You’ve been tempted to do that since we’ve been forced to work together, Verse,” Barely visible eyes narrowed behind the visor of Barik’s helmet. “If I had known our paths would cross again, Stormcaller, I might have allowed myself that honour back in Stalwart. On the other hand, I am glad to see you, Markus. I still receive letters from back home asking how you are doing.”

Markus nodded dumbly as he assessed Barik from head to toe, “It… has been, just…how—”

“Hey, save the stories for later,” Anton snapped his fingers. Having cleaned off the last splatter, he tossed the dirty rag back on the body. “Del, what should we do about them?” He pointed to the surviving Chorus members. Several yelp as all gazes turned to them. The group trembled on the spot, holding out their weapons with barely any grip strength.

“Let them go. This place is riddled with death already. It doesn’t need more.” Delphina said without hesitation.

“Alright then,” Anton accepted her decree. “Horde! You all saw what Fake Limp tried to do. Consider yourself lucky that Fatebinder Delphina’s got a large heart for you sorry lot. Now go fuck off back to camp, because a lot of people here look like they could stab something and I will not be stopping them when that happens.” The Chorus did not need more encouragement. They started an amble. The slow shuffle drew a variety of impatient responses from the Fatebinders, plus Barik and Verse. With a shout, Anton gave them a nip on the heel. “And don’t talk to Fifth Eye unless you want to die!”

The horde scampered the moment they heard the Crimson Spear’s name, leaving much of the rest of the sentence unheard. The dust they kicked up scattered quickly in the wind.

Anton rolled his shoulders. “Well, now that’s done, how about we discuss— Markus, Del!” Delphina collapsed against Markus faster than the man could react. It was Anton’s slide across the ground that cushioned her fall to the ground. Being right beside her, Markus and Anton listened as Delphina’s weak breathe struggled, faded, then stopped.

“Del, speak to me!” Markus called. Delphina, eyes shut tight in pain, did not respond. “Barik, has this happened before?”

“Not like this,” Barik said, worry in his voice, “She had coughing fits now and then. It wasn’t like this. Verse?” The Fury shook her head, too alarmed to speak.

Anton searched through Delphina’s pockets, all turning up empty. “Shit! Not a single yellow vial. How can you not have one, Del?!” He dug into his own and pulled out a sprig of a flowering plant, petals red as blood. “Markus, help me put her in recline, head towards me. This could help, but we need to get her breathing first.”

“Old man, stop writing!” Verse pushed the sage forward. “She saved your hide, remember? Least you could do is do your job.”

“Um, yes, of course,” The elderly man hastily tucked his scroll and quill away as he stumbled forth. “Fatebinders, if you’ll allow me…”

“You are?” Auria asked, standing back from the panic.

“Sage Lantry, recently sworn into the Peacebinder’s service.” The sage said with a bow, “I’m well versed in the arcane arts of healing and restoration. If you’ll allow me some space to work here—” Without another word, Markus stepped back, pushing Barik and Verse away as well. Lantry knelt down, and after a quick look at the Peacebinder’s current condition, waved his hand upward while signing with his fingers. A green glow of healing magic radiated from Delphina before fading away.

The first gasp Delphina took was quickly overtaken by a series of chocking coughs. Anton steadied her by the shoulders, and held the flowers under her nose. The hacking cough continued, but decreased in intensity, until her breath steadied to a quick and shallow rhythm.

“Del? Are you with us?” Anton asked, gently shaking the smaller Fatebinder.

There was no reply. Though she was once again breathing, the Peacebinder had not came to just yet. Watching the situation from the sidelines as Anton asked Lantry what else the sage could do, Auria pondered her options with regards to interrogating the Fatebinder before her.

Time, time was both enemy and friend, one that all must be forced to work with and also one that was waiting to betray. This was even more so when opposing sides of people were involved, as Time would gladly switch allegiance from one to another. Auria had observed thus far that Delphina was not just obviously taking deliberate detours, but also taking great pains to conceal it. In fact, the more time she spends on the detour, the more her intentions were concealed. With her poor health as an excuse, and if given time to recuperate fully, Delphina could use it to observe, to strategize, to plot. How tightly woven shall the web of intrigue be then, and how many may be trapped in it for all eternity?

And here, here was a moment that which Time may be seized and claimed by another. It need not be under the Peacebinder’s control any longer.

As the sage began drawing up more sigils with his hands, Auria walked forward. Markus intercepted, grabbing the Stormcaller by the arm. “What are you doing?” he asked, tone firm.

“Waiting, of course,” Auria said.

“No, you’re not just waiting. I can tell,” Markus ascertained. “What do you want?”

“I was called here to figure out what was going on and solve the problem. And right now, the problem I see is the Fatebinder selected to decalre the Overlord’s Edict has not done so, and instead has delayed it again and again, knowing very well that her health was deteriorating. The least I should do is find out why.” Auria’s eyes were sharp as she shrugged Markus’ hold away. “Do not stop my investigation, Firestarter,”

“You are not going to interrogate an ill woman, Auria.” Markus maintained, steadfast.

“And you are not going to stand in my way.” Auria bared her teeth, “May I kindly remind you that at this moment, you on the verge of being considered for collusion with the enemy. Feel welcome to step over that line if you wish, but do not drag me along with you. I have every intention of staying in the Court’s good graces and I am not about to throw that away over some friend of yours being sick!”

“Hey! Both of you! Shut. UP!” Anton shouted loud enough that both Auria and Markus turned to him with a glare. “I’m about ready to cut off some of my toes, and Del needs potions, fast. That means alchemical supplies we don’t have on our persons. So not that I’m picking a side here, but might we conduct all theoretical interrogations for the rest of today in the comfort of a camp?”

Markus and Auria stared back at one another, then back at Anton. Whether it was pride or politeness that held their tongue, Anton did not care.

“No answer. I’ll take that as a yes.” Anton draped Delphina over his shoulders, grunting as he straightened. Barik and Verse picked up the rest of her things. They gave Anton a nod once they were ready to go. “Good. Sage, keep an eye on Del’s condition, because I’m going to concentrate on walking. The Scarlet Chorus camp’s closer so we’ll stop there. Also, Candlehead, as light as she is, I can’t carry Del all the way. I’ll tell you when my knees quit on me.” With that, the roguish Fatebinder was off with the Peacebinder’s entourage, grumbling about his feet as he walked away.

“Talk about letting anger get to one’s head,” Auira mused, stretching her neck, checking to see if she herself was travel-ready. “The Chorus will hardly be friendly territory at this point.”

“I’m sure we’re still welcome there, even begrudgingly,” Markus said, and started walking. “It’s not like they can hate me more.”

Auria stared at the back of the man’s head with repressed scepticism. “Somehow, I am entirely willing to bet against that,” she whispered to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally like to sum up this chapter as follows.
> 
> Markus: I torture people by strangling them!
> 
> Anton: I torture people by breaking their fingers!
> 
> Auria: I torture people by sticking my finger in their guts and moving it around!
> 
> Markus and Anton: D:
> 
> Auria: :D
> 
> ...Auria's brutal, you guys.
> 
> This chapter was suppose to be longer, but I've decided to split it right now as the length would reach 9000+ words otherwise, which just overshoots all chapters we've had so far. This does break a pattern I wanted to have, but that's all part of writing. Sometimes you gotta let the work be what it needs to be.
> 
> Also, yes, that is THAT Pelox brother that's being tortured.


	13. The Promises Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the Scarlet Chorus camp, an encounter with the Archon of Song turns... intriguing. What's more, Delphina discloses her intentions to Markus.

“You! You dare show yourself in front of me again, worm?”

A girl in an elaborate metal headdress stepped forward, fists clenching her fine dress. Her wardrobe was one more suitable for a throne room than the disorganized camp they were in. The two Chorus guards on duty blocked her advance with their weapons. With no other option, the girl glared angrily at Markus from behind the crossed weapons.

“Well, if I can’t get any closer… Come here. And remove. My. Helmet,” the girl commanded, intonation dropping and rising with each word as it to create a resonance in her voice. As their gazes locked, a feather-light tickle in the back of Markus’ mind grew to a writhing that resembled wiggling fingers. He stared down at his assailant with a sigh.

“Sirin, what…are you doing?”

“Nothing? How disappointing,” the Archon of Song said snidely, “I see you remember me, Fatebinder. I do too. How does it feel, forcing some of the most intelligent men and women in the world into serving the Chorus for the rest of their lives in oppressive silence?” Sirin’s eyes burned with jealous rage.

“I did what I had to,” Markus maintained, “Also, stop crawling into people’s heads. No starting fights like last time; we can’t afford for our numbers to thin.”

“Oh I won’t be, ‘Father’.” Sirin mocked, “Not with these two watching over me. As if I need any protecting. You see, my degenerate allies worry that I’m going to start collecting followers again, so Nerat assigned these ‘guards’ to keep an eye on me. Nothing like the Disfavoured I had, but I guess life under Kyros’ employ isn’t exactly known for its longevity. Really though, is what I do really so bad? What harm can a child like me bring just by having a few worshipers?”

Sirin swayed on her feet, eyes wide with innocence. Markus said nothing in response to the guise. Instead, he looked at the Archon of Song knowingly and sternly, like a mentor about to correct a student. The silent stare drew a frustrated sigh from Sirin.

“Fine, if I can’t get you to help, maybe your underling can.” Sirin turned to Barik, “You, Tin Barrel! Remove my helmet.” The Disfavoured stood to attention, as if his joints locked.

“You require my assistance, lady? The most finely crafted item I’ve seen in forever. Do you truly wished it…removed?” As Barik rocked hesitantly on his foot, Markus held up an arm to block the entranced soldier from taking another step.

“Barik, ignore it,” he ordered, before turning to Sirin, “Release him, now.”

“You dare deny a bird its worm, Fatebinder?” Sirin taunted, eyes narrowing.

Springing footsteps against gravel approached them. “Hey! I’ve got the stuff.” Anton lifted up a small but hefty chest to show Markus what he got. Behind him was Verse, carrying a basket full of herbs. Seeing the Archon of Song, both gave a silent and cautious bow. “Lady Sirin, pleasure to have your presence about the camp. How may we help?” Anton asked, eyes darting between his friend and the Archon. Sirin gave the two newcomers a side eye full of mistrust and annoyance.

“Help? I don’t remember asking for your help, miscreant.” Sirin said, “You’ve all proven quite useless to me. I have no need of any of you anymore. Dismissed! Be gone from my sight!” With a flick of her fingers, the enchantment hold on Barik broke. He shuddered to awareness as the girl Archon strolled back towards her tent, back turned and nose up in the air.

“What…came over me? My head feels as if it has been scrambled,” the Disfavored asked, confusion and hurt peppered his speech.

“Whatever it was, probably best it didn’t last any longer.” Anton shoved the heavy chest into Barik’s arms. “Here, take this to the sage. It should have everything he asked for. Verse, go with him, we’ll come right along in a moment.”

“You got it, Fatebinder.” The Fury gave the Disfavored a heavy slap on the hindquarters, prompting him into moving as he broke out a slew of expletives. Luckily, most of the crunch from his armour muffled any Chorus-specific insults.

Having dispatched of their underlings, Anton turned back to Markus, who still had his gaze on Sirin. “What’s going on, Candles? Don’t tell me you picked a fight with the lady Archon here. I’d appreciate it if you don’t get us kicked out of camp,” he whispered and gave the Firestarter a nudge.

“No, we’re fine.” With restrained anger, Markus moved on. Anton quickly followed. Noting no respectful bows or farewells were given, Sirin turned around to observe their leave.

“Whatever she blathered, don’t let it get to you. For a Songbird, she sure likes to ruffle everyone else’s feathers,” said Anton, patting his friend on the back.

“I’m aware. I’ve dealt with before,” Markus replied with a huff.

Anton gave a light chuckle. “Is that so? Well my apologies then for your return to babysitting duty. Here’s to hoping Del will be back on her feet soon and that issue will be out of your hands.”

The offhanded comments stung. Anger flushed to Sirin’s cheeks. Tears welled in the corner of her eyes. The gem on her headdress pulsated with light with each sniff. She stomped her feet once in frustration, and the ground and air pulsed under the step, startling her guards. Ignoring their protests, the girl Archon trudged over to a crate in the shade of her tent and plopped down, arms cross and pouting. She sat there for a while, chin rested on her hands, elbows on her knees. Staring down at her, she saw they had gained a smudge or two. As she tried to dust the spots away, a shadow loomed over her, further darkening the spot where she sat.

“You know, my aunt Enalis used to grab us by the lips whenever she saw us pouting. She said it would creates wrinkles above the mouth if we kept it up.” Auria chuckled and shook her head at the young Archon’s silent tantrum. “For your sake, I would give you the same advice, even with no creases to prove my aunt correct. I like to think that she was not the kind of woman to lead us astray.”

“Auria!” Sirin perked up and opened her arms. Much to Sirin’s annoyance, her first step was met with a harsh cough from the guards.

“So the Whip Master has increased your security,” Auria noted casually. She turned to the two guards, shielding the girl archon with her height. “You two should take break. I have private business with the Archon of Song, and I have no faith in your ears being as stuffed up as they might look to be.” The two guards looked at one another sceptically. Sirin puffed out her chest in vindication.

“You heard the Fatebinder. You can go away now. Dismissed!” A dulcet tone emanated from the Archon’s shout. The two guards first gave each other a look of confusion, then one of blankness, before finally giving way to acceptance and tottering off, muttering that their throats were parched or their stomach grumbled. Once they were out of sight, Sirin charged forward with a tight hug, knocking the wind from Auria.

“Nice try, but I am still standing,” Auria joked with a strained voice. “If you must tackle someone, look to spells. You are ten years too late to be building up to my physique.”

“Are you’re saying you started punching people at the age of five? Positively scandalous, Fatebinder.” Sirin teased, “Anyway, I didn’t know you were here! Let me guess, you’re travelling with the useless bunch that I saw not too long ago, the Fatebinders lugging a ball of scrap and a murderous Fury?”

“Removing all nuances, yes, I am unfortunately travelling with them.” Auria sighed, “I could inform you of their names, but I thought you might want to grant them terrible appellations instead. At least, for the ones you have met. ”

Sirin tittered, and covered her mouth to stifle the mischievous laugh, in case any curious Chorus happened to be looking their way.

“Guess I shall have to wait on that, however, as you have evidently not met them all.” Auria sat down next to the crate, and patted the box to indicate Sirin to sit. “In the mean time, I was hoping you help me. I have some holes in my investigation that could use filling.”

“What would you like to know?” Sirin sat down, waiting expectantly

“Anything and everything, really,” Auria shrugged, “but let us start with the stuff that is being kept hushed, or have been wilfully ignored. What mutters and odd events have you noticed?” Sirin placed one finger on her chin in thought. Before speaking, she cupped her mouth, as if to deliver a secret. Auria leaned towards her to listen.

“Have you heard about Ashe’s son, Brennix?”

Auria gave Sirin a quick side eye. It was all Sirin needed to continue.

“They say he’s dead, but no one knows how he died and where. A body was never found, you see, but Ashe said that he felt it happen. He’s been quite distraught since the ‘revelation’. Both armies have been secretly pointing fingers at one another since. With nothing substantial though, all it has been is two dogs chasing their own tails.”

“Sounds like they are being their usual selves, as always,” Auria sighed, “Anything else you have found strange.”

“No,” Almost as soon as she answered that, Sirin tilted her head in hesitation, “Well, maybe. I mean, I don’t know anything about war strategies or planning and such, but the fighting with the Oathbreakers only picked up recently. We’ve had almost nothing for spans, and then all of a sudden, Kyros’ armies and the rebels were out to murder one another. ”

“That three Archons have been here for spans and yet made no progress is in itself is inexplicable, and screams incompetence.” Auria sat back straight, resting an arm on one knee. “You are not to blame, of course, Sirin. I imagine that Nerat is having too much fun terrorizing the rebels to even entertain the idea enthralling them.”

“Even if it did want to do that, and I really hope it doesn’t, it’s not like I can sing them into surrendering,” Sirin scowled, raising a hand to touch her helmet, “Not with this thing on.”

“I cannot feel the pain, but I can see what you mean. Have you considered locking Nerat in, if it ever comes off? I certainly to like to see how he thinks of his own creation then.” Auria gave Sirin a soft smile. “Well, thank you for the information. I shall dwell on them as I fail to sleep in the chaos that is this camp tonight.”

“Or I can sing you to sleep. I’m great with lullabies!” Sirin looked eager. Seeing the Archon’s enthusiasm, Auria usual composure faltered.

“I shall pass on that offer. Much rather I enter a rage and punch a Blood Hound senseless than risk my violent reputation ebbing.” The Stormcaller sought for a distraction. “Say, what are your thoughts on the other Fatebinders?”

“Really, Fatebinder? Are we gossiping now?” Sirin questioned, though answered willingly. “Well, to start off, the piece of charcoal that is the Firestarter can go join the ball of flames that Nerat is for all I care.”

“Is he truly that bad?” Auria asked, surprised by Sirin’s intense hatred. For one who hated the Archon of Secrets so much, the statement was extreme.

“He muzzled a bunch of sages and forced them to work for the Chorus! I could have heard so much about the world from them had they stayed as my followers, plus they would have been much safer too.” Sirin continued mockingly, “But no, forbidden knowledge is too dangerous, Sirin shouldn’t be playing with them like toys. He’s just like everyone else, trying to decide what I can and can’t do.”

“Certainly is a ever occurring frustration that is getting fastidious.” Auria empathized. “What about the others? Have you met the Peacebinder?”

“No, though I keep on hearing about her,” Sirin pouted again. “I really don’t get what the big deal is. Sure, she negotiated the peace treaty and all, but all that praise and adoration seems… undeserving? May be not that, but everyone keep on saying how pretty she is, and it’s getting annoying.”

“Right.” Auria said sarcastically, giving Sirin a knowing look. “And you are not saying this because you have any qualms with the praises and adorations she is receiving.”

“Urgh, there’s really no hiding from you is there?” Sirin relented, “Fine, I’m jealous. Not so much that it’s a huge bother, but it’s there. Honestly, who wouldn’t be? It must be nice, being able to get all that attention without needing to crawl into people’s heads.”

“Oh Sirin, reserve yourself some dignity,” Auria counselled, “You still have years to grow. Once you become of age, you will catch up to her level of charm in no time. Men and women from west to east of Terratus shall fall to their knees before you in reverence of your charm. There shall be lines that wraps around entire cities as petitioners seek to bask in your glory for even a brief second.”

“Now that you’ve put it that way, I’m not sure I want to be as charming as her.” Sirin side-eyed Auria with alarm. “This talk isn’t going to end with you reciting the names of all the entertainers you know in Lethian’s Crossing again and what they were capable of, is it? I’m still trying to make myself forget that.”

Auria rolled her eyes. “Of all the times you thought I was about to open the tent flaps and reveal the secrets between the bedroll, you had to pick the one where I was being sincerely innocent with my conversation.” She gave a prolonged sigh.“Well, now that we have reach a point of uncomfortableness, let us bask in this awkward silence, shall we? The first to crack gets teased mercilessly by the other for the rest of their lives.”

“Um, Auria…there’s one more,” Sirin reminded, “There’s one that’s half blind, right? I think that was him that I saw with the Firestarter.” Auria leaned back, resting her head against the support of the tent behind her and closing her eyes.

“Oh, him? I was not expecting you to know much about him, but since you have something to share, go ahead.” A prolonged silence followed. Auria opened one eye. Sirin was biting her lip in thought. Her dress crinkled between two fingers as she fidgeted. “Sirin?”

“Hm?” Hearing her name woke the Archon from her hesitation as if it were a knock. “Oh right, Fatebinder Anton. Well, he’s been helping the Chorus out quite a bit, before any you showed up, actually. I mean, Fifth Eye practically loves the man. I heard one of the gang leader Furies gave him a mission of some sort not to long back—”

“Sirin,” Auria placed a steady hand on the girl’s arm, stopping her ramble. “Listen. If there is something that makes you uncomfortable, or has done you wrong, and it can be punched, you have a sister to rely on that can do that for you, understand?”

“I… okay.” Sirin’s reply was a mixed of confusion, amusement and fear. Auria, on the other hand, reverted to her usual seriousness.

“Other than my fists, I can also use a shield. If you do not wish to, this subject can end and I did not hear anything from you. If you want to though, know that I will protect you, be it storm, stone or fire I will have to raise to do it.” The words of reassurance took their place and cemented in Sirin’s mind. She took a deep breath in and out, staring down at her toes as she hugged her knees, huddled up on her box.

“I… I just… well, I’ve never seen someone enter and leave that thing’s tent so many times alive, you know,” Sirin whispered, “And I’ve never figured out how it’s possible. I thought after all this time, I might have figured it out by now, but I still don’t. And that leaves… me uneasy. You know what I mean, right?” For a while, all noise in the camp seemed to diminish, as if seeking to expose what the girl Archon has just said. Both Auria and Sirin held their breathes in the dim, only relaxing once volume appear to have returned to conceal them.

“Thank you for telling me that, Sirin. It must have been difficult for you.” Auria said, standing up, looking about first and then pulling Sirin into a hug. The Archon gladly returned the gesture. “I shall keep what you said in mind, and thus keep my eyes open.”

“I hope it helps. Just… be careful of him, okay?” Sirin pleaded.

* * *

“That shall do the trick. Or tricks. I hope my memories of rudimentary alchemy have not failed me.” Looking up and seeing a row of scrutinizing eyes capable of dealing death with stares alone, Lantry quickly corrected himself. “The Peacebinder, I mean. More her than me.”

“Anything else we can do?” Markus asked as he helped the sage to his feet. The elder man had been on his knee since they began. As sturdy as Barik has claimed him to be, Markus imagined it could not have been comfortable.

“No much else, I’m afraid. A restorative spell every now and then might help. I could teach you, if you wish. In case I happen to be not around, not awake, or have been knocked unconscious, or be…not around anymore.”

“I’ll try.” Markus sighed, “I’m not great with spells. It took me five years to finally sign a vigour sigil without giving myself visual distortions.” He turned to Anton, who was still by Delphina’s bedside, replacing the equipment that had been in the chest. Seeing the imploring look from the Firestarter, Anton raised his maimed hand with a roll of his eye.

“Well, then you will be delighted to hear that the worst that can happen with miscasting restoration spells is excessive growth, of hair mostly. There were a few cases of extra fingernails or toes and such— think someone also grew a third nipple once— but they are rare occurrences, I assure you.”

“Oh, if you can accidentally cause me to grow my fingers back, I will give you a share of my stipend for the rest of my days. And add you as a beneficiary to my will.” Anton’s plea sounded more sincere than jovial. “Mind if I stay and watch and wait for that to happen?”

It was a simpler affair than any of them had expected. Markus himself was incredulous that it only took him ten minutes to start creating an effect, bursting Rhogalus’ decade long claim that the Firestarter was hopelessly inept at magic. Anton was thoroughly disappointed, until he heard that the extra fingers might not grow where he wanted them. Lantry, on the other hand, was finally feeling his voice tire. With the Fatebinders’ permission, he took his leave, reminding them that should they need to, they could find him by the closest fire.

The old sage leave in itself was an experience. Lantry started by wondering, partly to himself, whether he could manage to sleep at all, before noting the carpet in the tent looking incredibly inviting. Then again, a bedroll placed in camp, in his opinion, was nicer than a wilderness, however an improvement the latter was from being tied to a pole in the Scarlet Chorus camp. Lastly, there was something about wanting to find someone to ask them some questions, but both Anton and Markus reckon that might have been sleep talking at that point, given the way the sage’s voice droned as he at last exited the tent.

Anton hefted the small chest to a corner of the tent, and then dusted his hands. “I’m off to talk to Fifth Eye. See you in a bit, if I return at all.” As if those words were a fitting final farewell, the roguish ducked out of the tent with a casual salute. Markus gave a half-laugh-half sigh at his friend’s swagger.

Then he could feel his shoulders sag, as the day finally caught up to him. He looked back into the tent. Delphina lied on one of the beds, her breathing now much deeper and slowed. A dozen or so alchemical reagent bottles were tossed in a box next to her, each at varying levels of emptiness. Lantry’s muttering as he went through the bottles had him worried as the sage was mixing up his concoction, but it appeared to have worked out in the end.

The carpet, on the other hand, suffered a few stains, which Anton blamed entirely on the slippery bottle, and not his clumsiness. Still, Markus did entertain letting Lantry stay for a moment when he mentioned the carpet. The shelter was obviously prepared with receiving guests in mind, with rugs laid out on the uneven ground and platforms to place bedrolls on. They even managed to squeeze in a table, large enough for a map of the region to be laid out upon. It was upon this table that Markus and Anton left their extraneous items this morning, now joined by Delphina’s supplies. Nothing in sight appeared to be Auria’s. Granted, she did scale an entire mountainside by hand. Even her current weapons were borrowed from Markus.

As he was putting Delphina’s cowl and veil away, Markus found the large scroll bearing five broken wax seals, not unlike the one he received spans ago. He could still feel the magic that erupted from the Vellum Citadel pulse in his veins. Such was the power, and cost, of receiving the honour of declaring the Edict. And in Delphina’s case, it was eroding her from the inside. Even with his gloves on, he could feel the Edict’s power, waiting for a channel to be unleashed through. The thought of what it could do to his friend’s current fragile state chilled his blood, leaving them brittle as glass.

No, it wasn’t the Edict that fed his fear. It was the memory of a girl, likewise surrounded by bottles of reagents and bottle, lying on a sick bed, fighting for survival. It has always been that same fear, just smaller sometimes, and larger now than it ever was before.

“So you know.” her voice spoke, softly. Markus turned to see Delphina trying to sit up in her bed. “You know I haven’t read the Edict.” Though he placed the scroll down to reach over, she held out a hand to stop his aid. With effort, she managed to stand without weakness and keeping balance. Walking over to the table, Delphina retrieved her waterskin, taking in water in sips. The gulp went down like a ball of needles, stabbing her throat in rapid succession.

“Yeah. We know,” Markus noted that he was not the only one. “Auria, the Stormcaller, she somehow wrestled its wording out of Ceveus’ hand. I don’t blame him for caving under the pressure, though.”

Delphina nodded, and forced herself to take another drink. The sensation had her pulling at her collar to loosen it, briefly catching a necklace chain on her finger. Markus gestured for her to let him hold the waterskin, giving her hands to tuck the jewellery back in place.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Markus asked, letting the waterskin lean against his bag on the table, before sitting down on a bed.

“If I did, what were you going to do?” Delphina asked in return, still standing by the table, hands cradling her elbows. “No amount of begging was going to get you reassigned back to the city. You were needed to keep order at the citadel. There was no one else Tunon could entrusted the region to.”

“But I’m here now, aren’t I?” Markus pointed out.

“Only thanks to this,” Delphina picked up the Edict and opened it, running her hand over the words on the scroll. “Had you been there, it would be no different. Pleading was not going to change whose duty it was. Such was the Overlord’s will.”

“There might have been ways.” Markus disagreed, “I could have travelled with you, citing your health as an issue. Once we were here, there would be nothing here stopping us from letting me declare it instead.”

“Are you certain there would be absolutely nothing?” Delphina mused, head cocked.

“What do you mean?” Markus shrugged. Delphina gave him a knowing look.

“Not even a certain unpredictable factor coming from the south?” Markus threw his hands up in disgust. He didn’t even want to think about how much of a ball and chain Auria had been. Seeing her friend read the implications, Delphina continued, “And Anton would still be involved in all this. In the end, it’s not so different from our current situation.”

“Yeah. I’ll shut up. You’ve covered everything already.” Markus accepted. He tapped his finger against the table surface, staring at the Edict that was on the table. “You know, the plan you have right now though, I think it’s feasible. Auria may object all she wants, but it IS not specified.”

“If it was that alone, the Stormcaller could accept it.” Delphina said.

“What else is there to do that isn’t technically legal?” Markus questioned, “By Ashe’s beard, if she were the one reading the Edict, she might do it herself.”

Delphina smiled, one that was kind, but sorrowful. “She doesn’t just break the rules when it suits her, you know? She only breaks the ones that stand in her way. This would not be one of them.”

“Then what would be?”

“Giving her standards, deeming the Disfavoured and Chorus incompetent would certainly be a catalyst.” Delphina rubbed the back of her neck, “I can’t see what she would do, but I think that would be a breaking point. That, or something incredibly personal, which not many have a hold of.”

“Well, let us hope we’ll never get any of those,” Markus said. As a pregnant paused dragged on, uncertainty built up inside like heat trapped in furnace. “Unless, we might, or will, reach that point.”

“I don’t want it to happen either, but it may be unavoidable at this point.” Delphina paced, looking down at the floor, one hand under her chin. “Which is why I told the Oathbreakers the wording of the Edict.”

“You WHAT?” Noticing his outburst, Markus quickly receded to an concerned whisper. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s so we will have to have a third option. I need their trust if I am to negotiate a surrender. Letting them know of the stakes is a good place to start building it.”

“They’ve already broken a treaty once, a treaty you brokered!” Markus raised his voice again, and just as quickly restrained himself. “And who’s to say they won’t fight until the last of them is dead?”

“The Tiersmen are more afraid of death than they let on, not unlike us.” Delphina empathized, “Between a slow death and a very small chance at life, they would more than likely pick the latter.”

Markus sighed, disbelieving the possibility. “That’s if you can convince them. Besides, they might see the Edict as you holding a threat over their heads. You can declare it on them at any time, as far as they know.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t intend to.”

“Wait, what?” Markus blinked. The proclamation stunned him. Trust blinked and quivered, a candlelight struggling in a gale. “Del, what are you…Why are you saying that?”

“I don’t make promises lightly. You know that, Markus. It’s the crux of my reputation as a diplomat and negotiator. To keep my word is to keep my life.” Delphina’s eyes held a conviction as searing as the moons. “I promised someone that I will return from this mission, alive. There is only one way for that to happen: I will not read this Edict at all.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Bastard's Wound Release Celebration Chapter! (I'm only a couple hours late!)
> 
> I wanted to reach this mostly because with the DLC, I do intend to revise what has been written for minor bits of plot holes that are already forming. Better catch them early than never!


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